In Fate's Hands
by MyChaosTheory
Summary: AJ Lee and CM Punk thought their troubles were behind them. But when WWE sponsors and the board of directors discover that Punk's injury to Daniel Bryan at Wrestlemania was no accident, they're out for revenge. With the world closing in on their secret, how can Punk, AJ, and the family they've created possibly survive? [Sequel to End of Heartache]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Hey, guys! That's right, ANOTHER Punklee fic. I just can't help myself. :P Anyway, this story a sequel to my first one, End of Heartache. It picks up about a month after the last story ended. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend you do so, otherwise you'll be a little lost. But for those of you who might not have the time to read all 42 chapters of it, I'll try to briefly summarize the events of the previous story at the end of this chapter. Okay, enough of my rambling. Enjoy the new story!**

"Come on," Punk begged. "Say it. You have to say it again. If you don't say it on camera, no one will believe me and they'll keep thinking I'm insane." Phillip giggled, his stubby little fingers reaching out to grab Punk's phone. His father quickly moved it out of reach, readjusting it to fit his little clone in the frame of the video.

Phillip only began to laugh harder.

"Come on, buddy," he urged again. "Say it! You've gotta say it! Please? For Daddy?"

"_Dada_."

"Yes!" he cried. He dropped his phone, grabbing the baby off the bed and spinning him around in celebration. It was just one tiny, simple little word, but it was music to his ears. It was a word he had been waiting a long time for, and after eight months of watching his little boy grow, he finally had it. "Your first word is dada, and now I have the proof! _Yes_!" He kissed his son's forehead, and as usual the baby howled with laughter; his father's facial hair tickled him.

"What's the racket in here?" AJ asked as she entered the room, newly made bottle in hand.

"He said it!" Punk announced happily. "He said dada, and I got it on video to prove I'm not insane or just lying." He gestured to his phone proudly. "I can't wait to show everyone when we get there. I'm definitely dad of the year material."

AJ laughed, sitting down on the bed. "I'm glad a natural milestone of development has made you feel like such a wonderful parent," she said, holding the bottle out to him. He took it from her and began feeding their son, who was quickly downing the contents of the bottle hungrily.

"Are we almost there?" he asked. He couldn't contain his excitement; it was ever-present on his face.

"I just asked the driver," she answered. "We're about 20 minutes away. Are you ready for tonight?"

Punk didn't answer. He was already a million miles away again, completely absorbed in feeding the baby. AJ smiled as she watched them; he was really was an amazing father. He doted on their son as though he were the Holy Grail. She wondered sometimes how she could have gotten so lucky. She had a loving, dedicated husband who worked every day to make up for his prior shortcomings, and a beautiful son who was getting bigger and bouncier every day. But, as Punk would always say, luck is for losers. They had made their own fortune.

It had been a little over a month since they won their titles back at Night of Champions. They were riding on Punk's tour bus now, on their way to the last RAW before this year's Hell in a Cell. Things were still slightly tense backstage, with AJ silently skirting by Lita whenever possible, but they had largely left those transgressions behind. Things were getting back to normal, and they were good. They were very good.

She just hoped it would stay that way.

The bus pulled into the parking lot a little less than half an hour later, just as the driver had said. Punk shouldered the bag with their gear, while AJ, as usual, was equipped with the baby bag. It still amused him sometimes, how suburban they could look as a family unit.

"Hey, there's my favorite nephew!" Zack said cheerfully as they entered, holding out his arms. "Give me the kid."

AJ laughed, passing the happily fed baby to the spiky-haired wrestler. "I love how we don't exist anymore when Phillip is around," she said, leaning over to give the newly arrived Kofi a kiss on the cheek.

"Of course you do!" Kaitlyn exclaimed, joining the growing group. "It's just that, you know, neither of you are as cute as he is."

"Oh, thanks, Kait," AJ said sarcastically, but she embraced her best friend all the same.

Punk was absolutely giddy with excitement. "You guys have to see," he said, dropping the bag on the floor and pulling his phone out. "Look, I got it on video. See? I'm not making it up." He brandished the clip proudly, observing his friends' reactions as they watched the clip of Jack's first word.

"Well, I'll be damned," Kofi said teasingly. "The kid does like you after all."

"Oh, shut up!" Punk punched his shoulder playfully. "You're just jealous of our rugged good looks."

"Yeah, that'll be the day." Kofi rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

AJ just shook her head, chuckling. She glanced over at Zack, who was bouncing a laughing Phillip up and down. "Look at the kids play together," she teased, looking at Punk.

"What a sight," Punk agreed, draping an arm around AJ's shoulders. "Think we should take them to the playground for a little while? You know how Zack gets when he has too much energy." This earned him a good-natured scowl from his friend, but Punk just grinned back. He looked down at AJ and snuck a small, quick peck, pressing his lips against her forehead. She beamed at him, pulling him in for a longer kiss.

"Oh, come on, quit it," Kaitlyn said. "You don't need another baby just yet."

"Hey, I didn't know kissing could get you pregnant!" Punk exclaimed. "Does that mean I should wear chapstick to protect myself?"

AJ laughed. "I love you," she said, slipping one of her hands into the back pocket of his jeans.

He smiled at her. "I love you, too."

* * *

"I don't know what you're looking for," said one man, taking off his glasses with a sigh.

"You've been harping on this for months," another suit-clad executive agreed, leaning back in his chair. "You bring it up at every meeting. Can't we just… move on?"

"No, just look," a third man commanded, narrowing his eyes at the screen. "I think I finally found it. I'm going to rewind it again, and this time I'll zoom in on the right spot. Watch." The whole room uttered a collective sigh, humoring their fellow board member one last time as he brought the video back to the beginning. They watched as the tattooed man on the screen lifted the smaller blond man up, bringing him over his shoulders into a fireman's carry. The video paused. "I'm zooming in now." He blew up the still frame, glancing around the table to ensure everyone's attention was focused before letting it play again. "Right there! Look!"

The first man to have spoken frowned. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"It looks like…" said a fourth, leaning forward.

"He slams the neck on his knee," the third man confirmed proudly. "He doesn't slip. He doesn't drop him. He-"

"Does it on purpose," the second man finished with a nod. "All right, Jameson, you finally have your proof. So what does this mean, then? What do you want to do?"

The executive known as Jameson rose from his seat, straightening his tie. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "We sell action figures of these guys to kids, gentlemen. We can't have the face of a company we're sponsoring purposely inflicting such damage on another person. We need to contact their board of directors, and see about taking the appropriate legal action. All in favor?"

One by one, everyone seated around the table raised their hands.

"Okay. Let's break for lunch."

The group began to disperse, shuffling folders full of forms and contracts as they began to file out of the room. All the while, an image of CM Punk was still frozen up on the screen. A horrified AJ stood behind the ring, her eyes locked to the lifeless, paralyzed body of Daniel Bryan.

* * *

**Yikes! Sounds like our couple won't be in marriage bliss for too long! Anyway, here's that End of Heartache summary I promised, in the form of a list. I made it as short as possible.  
**

**-AJ is still sleeping with Daniel following their break up, trying to win him back**  
** -Punk and AJ form a tight friendship despite this**  
** -Fed up with Daniel's abusive ways, Punk finally intervenes, and Punk and AJ begin a proper relationship**  
** -A month later AJ discovers she's pregnant; they don't know who the father is, due to the timeline**  
** -John Lauranitis finds out and makes the whole thing part of their on-screen story**  
** -Friends Zack Ryder, Colt Cabana, Kofi Kingston, and Kaitlyn support them**  
** -Daniel purposely throws himself into AJ, nearly causing a miscarriage**  
** -A few months later, AJ takes off, thinking Punk feels trapped by her and the baby**  
** -In a desperate attempt to prove his love, Punk proposes in the ring, and she accepts**  
** -AJ gives birth a month before her due date in the locker room at Elimination Chamber**  
** -Daniel alters the ending to his EC match, stealing the WWE title from Punk in the confusion**  
** -After a DNA test, Punk is revealed as Phillip Brooks, Jr.'s father**  
** -A month later, one week before Wrestlemania 29, Punk and AJ marry in their backyard**  
** -A drunk Daniel crashes the ceremony, trying to force himself on AJ when she's alone**  
** -Punk decides the way to keep his family safe** **is to take Daniel out**  
** -At WM 29, Punk purposely botches the GTS, which breaks Daniel's neck and paralyzes him**  
** -Punk is horrified by what he's done and eventually admits the truth to AJ**  
** -She urges him to visit Daniel in the hospital; he does, and Daniel forgives him**  
** -Lita returns to the WWE, causing unresolved feelings to arise in Punk**  
** -Punk has a one night stand with Lita, horrified when he discovers he has no feelings left for her**  
** -Zack finds out and forces Punk to admit it to AJ; he does, and AJ kicks him out**  
** -AJ reveals the affair on RAW to shame Punk and Lita**  
** -Baby Phillip is rushed to the hospital with a torn hernia; AJ frantically calls Punk for support**  
** -When Phillip is released from the hospital, AJ agrees to take Punk back so they can be a family**  
** -Wade Barret takes the WWE title and Lita retains the diva title during an inter-gender tag match**  
** -Trish Stratus convinces Lita to stop punishing AJ for Lita's mistakes**  
** -Punk and AJ win their titles back from Wade and Lita at Night of Champions**


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you ever think sometimes we're going to… I don't know, wake up?" AJ asked.

"What do you mean?" Punk pulled her more tightly against his chest, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. He loved lying with her like this, his arms entangled with hers.

"It all just seems too perfect sometimes," she answered, watching from across the room as Phillip turned over in his play pen, clutching his Wrestlemania bear. The little boy was fast asleep, having nodded off about halfway through RAW. He stayed down when they carried him up to the hotel room. "I feel like one day I'm going to wake up and I'll be back in my apartment in New Jersey, still pining for Bryan, or worse- still be with him." She shuddered at the thought.

He chuckled. "Baby, that's not gonna happen," he assured her. "I promise." He ran his fingertips along her arm stopping at her hand. His index finger tapped at her wedding ring, rolling the smooth, golden band in his palm. "This is going to be on here forever, okay? There's no dreaming involved. We actually got married, and we actually have a kid."

"Well, if you want to get technical about it, it _actually _happened the other way around," she teased, turning around in his embrace to face him.

"If you _really _want to get technical, it all started from that absolutely _amazing _sex we had in the shower that one night," he reminded her with a kiss. "And oh, was it ever amazing." He went to kiss her again.

She laughed. "We are _never _telling our son how he was conceived," she said, turning her cheek.

"I wasn't planning on it." Denied access to her mouth, he moved to her neck instead, planting small kisses on her silky skin. His hands dipped below the blanket that covered them both.

"Punk! We can't!" She fought against his roaming hands playfully. "Phillip is sleeping!"

"Come on," he purred, parting her legs slowly. "I'll be quiet, I promise. Besides, he could sleep through a hurricane." He resumed his attack on her neck.

"All right," she relented with a giggle. As always, she was helpless to thwart his advances.

* * *

Punk wasn't sure what woke him first- his phone ringing, or Phillip crying. But both were happening once, and he had a decision to make, as AJ was miraculously sleeping through both noises. In a quick swoop, he snatched his phone off the bedside table and crossed the room to grab Phillip out of the playpen. His wailing lessened, but Punk knew that at this point there was no soothing him back to sleep. With a sigh, he answered his phone.

"This had better be important," he said gruffly. "It's early, and you woke my kid it up."

"Consider it _very _important," came a growl from the other end of the line. "This is probably the most important phone call you'll ever receive."

Punk frowned. "Hunter?" he asked, glancing quickly at his screen. "This isn't your cell phone. What number are you calling from?"

"I'm calling from the office," Triple H answered. "I need you here immediately for an emergency board meeting."

"In Connecticut? Hunter, we're nearly six hours away in Baltimore. AJ is supposed to have a match on Smackdown tonight. We're-"

"Not anymore," his boss cut him off tersely. "Get on your bus and head for Stamford. We'll be waiting for you."

Punk sighed; he didn't like last-minute changes or meetings like this. They were almost always prophetic of bad things to come. He couldn't remember a time when a meeting of such dire importance had boded anything but an ill-conceived plan or scheme. "I don't suppose I get to have any idea as to we have to bolt all the way up the coast for a super secret gathering of the big wigs?" he asked.

"Not a chance," Hunter replied. "Get on the road as soon as possible." He hung up abruptly.

It took a great deal of self-control for Punk not to spike his phone angrily to the ground. Sighing with frustration, he tossed it on the bed and used his free hand to start preparing a bottle for Phillip. They had been slowly easing him onto baby food for the past few months, but there wasn't time this morning to battle him with the spoon and clean up the inevitable mess that would ensue. The bottle would have to do for now.

The microwave beeping with Phillip's finished bottle finally roused AJ from her slumber. "What's going on?" she muttered sleepily. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "It's so early. Did he just get up?"

"Sort of," Punk answered, sitting down to feed him. "The phone woke him up." He quickly explained Triple H's phone call, and their new course of action for the day.

"That's so stupid," she said, frowning. "Why won't he tell us what's going on? Why does he need you at a board meeting?"

"Hell if I know," he muttered, setting Phillip down to change him. "I wonder who I pissed off this time." He smiled sweetly at his son as he got the now satisfied baby dressed.

"Do we really have to leave now?" AJ asked as she gathered their bags together and collapsed Phillip's playpen.

"So the barbarian overlord says." He grumbled to himself. "I really don't want to be stuck on the bus for the next six hours."

"Sounds like we don't have a choice," AJ pointed out.

* * *

Traveling with a baby wasn't always a walk in the park, and today was one of those days.

Phillip was unusually restless, growing more and more agitated as their bus climbed the east coast. The baby's uneasiness only further offset Punk's mood. Phillip normally took to traveling pretty well; even on long trips like today, he was usually easily amused by a DVD or his toys or whoever was on the bus with them at the time. It was almost as though he was brooding about the impending meeting, just like his father.

AJ, on the other hand, was doing her best to keep the mood light. She kept up a constant stream of conversation with Punk as she played with Phillip, always referring to sweet memories or lighter prospects. But it seemed like no matter what she said or did, nothing could soothe the troubled men in her life.

It was nearly 3 PM by the time they pulled up to Titan Towers in Stamford- almost six grueling hours of driving since six in the morning, plus a few rest stops. Punk thanked his driver as they stepped off the bus, AJ lugging a finally napping Phillip along in his car seat. "All right," Punk grumbled to the secretary at the front desk, "let's get this circus on the road. I dragged my ass and my family all the way up here. What's the deal?"

The secretary, who had originally been smiling when they walked in, was now as pale as the manila folders stacked on her desk. "Just a second," she squeaked, grabbing the phone. "Sir, he's here." There was a brief pause. "Yes, the family is with him. I'll send them up." She put the phone down slowly, raising her head to at the confused pair of wrestlers in front of her. "You can go up now. The board room is on the tenth floor."

"This is getting weird," AJ muttered as they proceeded beyond the lobby to the elevators. "Why was she so freaked out?"

"I have no idea," Punk replied, stabbing his index finger into the button for their floor. "I just want to get this over with so we can head home." He offered her a small smile, squeezing her hand. "Everything's going to be fine, right?"

She smiled back. "Of course it will." But as the elevator reached the tenth floor, she wasn't so sure.

Triple H met them in the hallway, dressed in a sleek pinstripe suit. "I think it might be best if they wait outside," he said stiffly, glancing at AJ and Phillip. He was clearly in a surly mood, having skipped any greeting pleasantries entirely.

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of my wife," Punk said coolly.

He just held up his hands. "Fine," he said. "You can leave the baby in Stephanie's office."

AJ nodded quickly, scurrying off down the hallway. She returned a moment later, arms free of Phillip's car seat. She took Punk's hand, and together they entered the board room behind Triple H. The table looked crowded; the seats were spaced awkwardly to accommodate more than just the usual chairs. Punk quickly picked out three men he didn't recognize.

"Sit down, Punk," said Vince McMahon from his spot at the head of the table.

"No," Punk snapped. "You need to tell me what the hell is going on before I walk out of here. Who are these guys? They aren't board members. What are you trying to pull, Vince?"

Vince leaned forward, straightening his blazer. "Punk, these men are three of the board members of the company that's one of our biggest sponsors," he said calmly, not letting his champion's rising anger rattle him. He gestured to them, and one of the men rose from his seat.

"Mr. Brooks, my name is Alan Jameson," he said, coming forward. "Myself and my associates are from Mattel."

"Oh, the toy guys," Punk muttered, rolling his eyes.

"I assure you, this is no laughing matter," Jameson said sternly. He eyes the WWE champion and his wife carefully. "We need to ask you a few questions about Bryan Danielson, a.k.a. Daniel Bryan."


	3. Chapter 3

Punk froze dead in his tracks. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him about Daniel Bryan, long enough that he'd been able to quietly tuck his guilt about Wrestlemania away in a corner of his mind. Hearing an executive, of all people, question him now, made his blood run cold.

"Mr. Brooks?" Jameson prompted impatiently, arms folded.

"Punk," AJ hissed, almost inaudibly, squeezing his hand. She too remembered what had happened that night. While she never agreed with the method he'd used to keep their family safe, she knew he'd done it to protect them. But the board didn't know that. They _couldn't _know. When he still didn't respond, she dug one of her nails sharply into his palm.

The pain, although slight, was enough to shock Punk back to reality and drag him out of his memories. "Sure," he said quickly, nodding. "Yeah. What about him?"

"I trust you remember what happened to him on the night of Wrestlemania 29?" Jameson asked.

"Of course I remember," Punk replied curtly, unconsciously tightening his grip on AJ's hand. "I was there. It was an accident."

"An accident," Jameson repeated with a nod. He went to the table and opened his briefcase, removing his laptop from it. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," he growled.

"I thought you'd say that." AJ's eyes were glued to the man, watching with fear as he busied himself with connecting his laptop the room's projector. He pulled down the screen at the front of the room, then began clicking away at his computer. "I have with me a copy of the footage from your match with Mr. Danielson at Wrestlemania 29."

"Yeah, you and a few million other people," Punk spat.

"Calm down," AJ muttered, squeezing his hand again. She knew he was afraid, and he was responding to his fear the way he usually did- with anger.

Jameson didn't respond, still busy with his laptop. An awkward silence had fallen over the room. No one made a sound, and this frightened AJ even more- Vince and Hunter were letting this man run their board room without a single argument. The two powerhouses never went down without a fight, and here they were bowing to the man who was pulling up a video clip on the screen.

"As you can see here," Jameson announced, "Mr. Brooks-"

"Punk," he cut in tersely. "You can call me Punk."

"_Punk,_" Jameson corrected himself with a smile, "lifts Mr. Danielson over his shoulders in preparation for his finishing move. The Go to Sleep, if I'm correct? Right. And as he prepares to drop him, he moves Mr. Danielson a few inches forward, _here_. And then…" He paused, zooming in on the frame. "Right here."

Every pair of eyes in the room was trained on the screen, watching as Punk slammed Daniel's neck down onto his knee.

"Holy fuck," Hunter muttered, covering his forehead as he looked away.

"Well, _Punk_?" Jameson asked, his lips popping with the emphasis he put on the wrestler's name. "What do you have to say?"

AJ shook her head, biting her lip to stifle her cry of outrage. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. They were still in bed, blissfully unaware of the outside world. _It's all a dream_, she thought. _It's a dream and we'll wake up soon._

"You're interpreting this incorrectly," Punk said hurriedly, gesturing loosely to the screen. "You're- you're looking for things that aren't there. It was an accident. We were both sweating after wrestling for almost half an hour, and he slipped out of my grip."

Jameson smiled. "I thought you might say something like that," he said, snapping his laptop shut.

"Why do you care, anyway?" Punk demanded, curling his fist. "You run a fucking toy company. Why do you care about what happens in the ring?"

"We sell toys to children, Punk," Jameson reminded him. "We just can't have a violent monster as the face of one of our most popular product lines."

"I'm not a violent monster!" Punk shouted. "It was a fucking accident!"

AJ winced. "No," she murmured. "No, no, no…"

"Punk, settle down," Vince ordered as he stood up, speaking up again for the first time since the beginning of the meeting.

"So what are you trying to do here, then?" Punk snapped. "Trying to get me fired? Trying to grease the wheels with my bosses and get them to break my contract?"

"Oh, not at all," Jameson assured him. "That's not why we're here at all. We'll be taking our evidence to the police and a grand jury of the state of New Jersey. If all goes well… you'll be indicted for attempted murder."

_Attempted murder._ "No," AJ squeaked. She suddenly felt very weak. Her knees began to buckle, threatening to give out. "You… you can't…"

"It was a fucking accident!" Punk yelled. "You can't do this to me! Why are you doing this? Bryan would never press charges against me!"

"He doesn't have to," one of Jameson's associates spoke up. "This isn't assault. He has no say in the matter. Attempted murder ups the stakes a little. But you would know that, wouldn't you? Seeing as you tried to kill a man."

"Stop this!" AJ shouted. "Please!"

But no one paid the distressed diva any mind. They were all focused on Punk, whose heart was thudding so loudly against his chest he was sure the whole room could hear it. "You bastards," he whispered. "You fucking bastards! Why the fuck are you out to get me?"

"This isn't about you," Jameson answered. "It's about getting justice for the man your brutalized." He looked from Vince to Triple H. "I think we're done here. Gentlemen, I appreciate your help in this matter. You'll be hearing from us soon." He closed his briefcase and made to leave, the other two Mattel board members following behind him.

"Punk, I…" Hunter began, but he faltered, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

"We had nothing to do with this," Vince answered, appearing beside him. "They called us, explained the situation, and demanded a meeting. There was nothing we could do."

"Nothing you could do?" Punk cried, looking from Vince to Hunter frantically. "And what do you believe happened?"

"I'm… not sure," Vince admitted. "But for now, we have to take steps to protect the company. This Sunday, you'll be relinquishing your title to Wade Barret. After that, we're going to be downsizing your TV roles considerably. We can't afford the bad publicity."

"This is bullshit," Punk muttered shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," Triple H repeated.

"You're not sorry!" AJ cried. Dropping Punk's hand, she darted from the room. Punk was left helpless, torn between giving his bosses a piece of his mind and going after his wife. His heart quickly won out and he tore after her, trying to keep his head above water as he ran. But as he closed in on Stephanie's office, where he was sure AJ had taken off two, three terrible words were burning in his mind.

_Attempted murder. Prison._


	4. Chapter 4

"No, no, no," AJ muttered, shaking her head rapidly. "This isn't happening, this isn't happening…" She burst into Stephanie's office, surprising the billion dollar princess as she grabbed Phillip's car seat.

"What happened?" Stephanie asked, springing back from her desk.

AJ just shook her head at her, unable to find the words necessary to explain what had just occurred in her life. The meeting had left her mind almost completely numb. How could this possibly be happening in her life? This was too much. This was way too much. The last two years had been a complete whirlwind- from breaking up with Daniel, to falling hard and fast for Punk, to becoming pregnant, the paternity nightmare, the Wrestlemania disaster, Lita… and now this? Why? What had she done to deserve this? What sins had Punk committed? What he'd done to Daniel was deplorable, yes, but the man had been on a violent warpath. Maybe there had been another way… A way neither of them had thought of. But it was too late for that now.

She bolted out of the room, trying to keep the car seat steady as she walked. But it was impossible; her hands were shaking too much, and the seat was bouncing against her leg. The movement quickly roused Phillip from his nap, and he began to wail with discontent.

"AJ, wait!" Punk called after her, jogging down the hallway to catch up. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, shaking his hand off her. The awkward jostle caused Phillip's cries to rise sharply; he was just as upset as his parents.

"Baby, please," he begged. "The last thing we need right now is to be at odds with each other. I…" His voice began to falter, arms dropping to his sides. "I really need you right now."

"And I need _you _not to be in jail!" she snapped, whirling around to glare at him. Her eyes were like wildfire, blazing as they glared at him."How could you do this to me, Punk? How could you do this to us? To our _family_?"

"I did it _for _our family!" he shot back, raising his voice to be heard over Phillip's persistent cries. "You know that! We talked about this! I-" He paused, suddenly remembering that they were still in the middle of the hallway. He could almost imagine that slimy executive hiding just beyond the next corner, holding up a recorder. "Come on, we can't do this here. Let's just get back on the bus, okay?"

She didn't answer him, setting the car seat down to unbuckle Phillip. "Shhh," she whispered, cradling him in her arms. "It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here." She headed toward the elevators, leaving Punk to grab the car seat and chase after them.

They left the bus in Connecticut, electing instead to take the much shorter flight back to Chicago. They spent most of the trip in silence, communicating only when necessary, usually for Phillip's sake. It was nearly midnight when they walked in the door, mentally exhausted.

"I'm going to put him to bed," AJ muttered, carrying the baby upstairs. Their son had had a rough day, finally falling back asleep about halfway through the flight. It was almost as though he was feeding off the tension around them.

Punk waited in the living room for her, expecting her to return when Phillip was tucked in. They needed desperately to talk about this, although in truth he didn't know what either of them would say. What was there to say? A truly vengeful man was out to get him, and he was gunning for blood. He felt completely helpless to save himself.

When 20 minutes passed with no sign of AJ, Punk went looking for her. He ducked into Phillip's room first, thinking that perhaps he'd woken up and she was having a difficult time soothing him. But the room was dark, illuminated slightly only by the nightlight crib mobile. He frowned and stepped out, closing the door slowly. There was only one other option. He found her where he expected, curled up on their bed in a sobbing heap.

"Baby…" he whispered, sitting down next to her. He placed a hand tentatively on her back, remembering her reaction the last time he'd touched her today.

"What the hell are we going to do, Punk?" she cried, whipping around to face him. Her eyes were bloodshot, cheeks streaked with tears. "They're going to take you away from me."

"Hey," he said quietly, pulling her closer. "No one is taking me away. Nothing's even happened yet."

"But they will!" she insisted, gripping his arms tightly. "A powerful, extremely rich company is taking pretty damn convincing evidence to the police, and they're going to come get you and-"

"Stop!" he cut her off shakily. The fear he'd worked so hard to bury since the afternoon was starting show again. How could he hide it, when she had so little faith in him? "No one is coming to get me, okay? We'll- we'll fight this. We'll find a great lawyer." He took her firmly by the shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere, got that? I'm staying right here. Right… right here." His voice broke at the end of his sentence. He swallowed hard, trying to fight the pain in the pit of his stomach.

He held her in his arms for hours, rocking her gently to soothe him the way he did to Phillip. She ultimately fell asleep against him, curled in his embrace. He found himself drifting off several times, but in the end he stayed awake all night, dragging his fingers through her hair as she slept. When the early morning light began to spill through the window, he slowly untangled himself from her body and pulled the blanket over her.

He didn't know what to do with himself. He was exhausted, yes, but sleep was a hopeless endeavor at this point. He had far too much on his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Daniel's flop sickeningly to the floor. Every time he began to nod off, he heard the loud clang of a cell door being slammed shut. He eventually found himself sitting on the front steps of his house, watching the sun peak out from behind the high-rise buildings in the distance. He usually liked being out this early, but not today. There was little to no noise throughout the neighborhood, and the silence left him alone with his own unnerving thoughts.

When he was finally sick of his conscience whispering evil regrets at him, he pulled his phone and hit the second number he had on speed-dial. "Come on," he muttered, tapping his foot. "Please answer."

"What the fuck, man?" Colt grumbled sleepily as he picked up the call. "It's not even 7 o'clock yet. I had a major show last night. I'm still beat."

"I know, I know," Punk mumbled. "I'm sorry for calling so early. But it's kind of important."

"What's up?" Colt asked, concerned. His tone had changed completely. He'd known Punk for long enough to be able to detect the subtle nuances in his best friend's speech. He could tell already that something was very wrong.

"I… need your help," Punk answered hesitantly, after a moment of pause. He was massaging his forehead with his free hand, staring down at the concrete beneath his bare feet. "I think I need to find a lawyer, and I don't know where to start."


	5. Chapter 5

"Fuck, man," Colt muttered, shaking his head. "Where do we start?"

"Hell if I know," Punk replied dejectedly. "I've never had to do this before. Do we pull out the yellow pages and start flipping through it? I don't just want to hire some asshole I find on Google or something." He sighed, knocking his fist idly against the table. He was glad Colt was here for support and guidance- his best friend had hopped in the car and rushed over as soon as Punk explained what was happening. But as the two of them sat at the kitchen table, neither could think of a plan of action. While both men had had their fair share of run-ins with the law during their unruly youth (Punk more so than Colt), neither had ever faced any serious legal trouble before.

"Maybe you should call the company," Colt suggested after a moment of thought. "They have an entire legal team on retainer, don't they?"

"Yeah, but they're corporate lawyers, not criminal," Punk pointed out. "And I'm not so sure I trust them to have my back anyway. Hunter and Vince reeled me into that board meeting with that bastard Jameson in the first place. They offered me up on a silver platter. They're thinking about their company's best interests, not mine."

"Well, wouldn't it be in the company's best interests to keep you out of jail?" Colt asked.

Punk merely shrugged. "All I know is I don't trust them."

"Don't trust who?"

The boys turned around, watching as AJ entered the kitchen. She looked much more relaxed than the previous night. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore one of her usual Pikachu tank tops, as well as a pair of Punk's basketball shorts.

"Hey, baby," Punk greeted her with a small smile. He reached out and caught her by the wrist, pulling her into his embrace.

"What's he doing here?" AJ asked, glancing across the table.

Colt laughed harshly. "Nice to see you too, AJ," he said.

She frowned. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear. It's just pretty early and-"

"Relax, relax," Colt said calmly, holding up his hands. "Don't worry. You're stressed. I get it."

"Then he told you what happened," she whispered, looking down.

He nodded. "We've been brainstorming for a little while," he said.

"Colt thought I should talk to the company and maybe get one of their lawyers," Punk explained. "But I just told him I don't trust them."

"I don't trust them either," she said flatly. "They lured you in and offered you up as bait. Fuck them."

"Damn," Colt whistled. He looked at Punk. "You've rubbed off on her a lot, dude."

"We're getting off topic," AJ snapped. She looked from Colt to Punk. "So what are we going to do?"

"I think I don't want to do anything for now," Punk announced, earning wide-eyed stares from both his wife and his best friend.

"What do you mean?" Colt asked with a curious glance.

"I was still freaking out when I called you," Punk admitted. "But we all might be over-thinking this. Jameson said he's bringing his evidence to the cops and they're going to try to get an indictment, right?" AJ nodded. "So I haven't even been charged yet. They might not even believe him. So why run out and get a lawyer if I haven't even been arrested?"

"I don't know," AJ muttered uncertainly. "Are you sure? What if-"

"I don't want to stress us out for no reason," Punk cut her off. "If it does happen, well…" He sucked in a tight breath. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Colt sighed. "This 'we'll deal with it if we have to deal with it' approach is fine for now," he said, "but you're forgetting something. This Mattel guy isn't just pulling evidence out of the air. This really happened. You hurt Dan on purpose, he nearly died, and now he has to have a nurse with him all the time to take care of him. We all know why you did it and we all know you didn't try to kill him, but we're the only people who know that. He forgave you, yeah, but that was months ago. What if he's bitter again now? What if he's willing to testify against you? This could really happen, Punk."

Colt's speech left Punk stunned. His best friend didn't speak so gravely very often. When the occasion arose, Punk always listened. But this time, Colt's words had struck him dumb. He shut his eyes, the ill-forged memories rewinding before him. He wasn't in his kitchen anymore; he was in the ring, staring down into Daniel's cold, vacant eyes.

"No," Punk muttered, shaking his head furiously. "No, no…" Gripping his temples he bolted from his chair, nearly knocking AJ over in the process. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and dropping to his knees.

"Fuck," Colt groaned, drumming his fingers on the table. He could hear Punk vomiting, retching painfully over and over. "I'm sorry about that, AJ."

Her face was pale, but she just nodded. "It's okay," she told him quietly. "He needed to hear it." She looked down, mindlessly fiddling with the drawstring of her shorts. "We both did." She didn't think about Daniel too often anymore, but hearing what Colt had to say brought everything rushing back and put it in perspective for her. There was a very real possibility that her husband and the father of her child could be going to jail, and she had to accept that, no matter how horrifying that prospect was.

Punk emerged from the bathroom about 15 minutes later, his stomach empty and his mouth fresh with the sting of mouth wash. Entering the kitchen, he found that Colt had already left. Punk didn't blame him; the knowledge of what was to come was a heavy burden for anyone to carry. He knew his comedic buddy would appear again if they needed him.

"Feeling any better?" AJ asked, setting a jar of strained carrots on the table. She was preparing breakfast for Phillip, who would probably be waking up soon.

"Not really," he admitted, sitting down.

"Do you want me to make you anything to eat?"

He shook his head. "I probably wouldn't be able to stomach it," he answered.

She sighed, taking a seat across from him. "I hate seeing you in so much pain," she whispered.

"I don't want to leave you," he muttered. "I want to stay here. This is where I belong. If I could take back the stupid shit I've done, I would. I'm sorry I got us into this mess, AJ. I'm so fucking sorry." Her heart broke for him as he lowered his forehead to the table, pressing it against the cool wooden surface. She reached across the table for his hand, intent on letting him know she was still here for him.

His hand was shaking.


	6. Chapter 6

True to their word, Vince and Triple H had taken Punk off his house show appearances. This left both he and AJ at home; as collateral damage, her appearances has been stricken as well. It angered Punk that her career was being affected by her connection him, but there was nothing they could do about it. But AJ wasn't so sure she would have been able to put on a good match with everything going on in her head, anyway.

Throughout the week, AJ and Punk treaded lightly around each other. Neither of them was quite sure what to do with themselves; they hadn't had this much time off in months, not since Phillip was in the hospital. Punk dealt with his restlessness by working out almost constantly, while AJ spent her time with Phillip. She played video games while he slept, catching up on some much-loved titles she didn't have the time for on the road. It was the easiest way for her to pass the time and forget about what was happening, although she wished her husband was sitting next to her, too.

By Friday, AJ was getting fed up with Punk's methods of avoidance. When he made to disappear into their home gym for the third time that day, she snatched him by the arm and yanked him back. "You need to stop this," she said stiffly. "You've barely spent any time with us all week. I know you're scared, baby, but if anything you should be with us _more_, not _less_. You're avoiding us."

He turned fully to face her. "Have I?" he asked, frowning. "I… haven't even noticed."

"Yes, you have," she answered, tightening her grip on his arm. "You wake up before me and you go to bed after me. You barely even pay attention to Phillip, either." She glanced at their son, who was sitting on a blanket on the living room floor a few feet away. He was surrounded by blocks, two of which he was banging together happily.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I don't know what to say." His defeated expression terrified her- he almost never looked so beaten down.

"Tell me why you've been so distant," she asked him, her voice softer now. She looked up at him, eyes filled with concern.

"This is all my fault," he said through gritted teeth, turning away from her. "I did this to us. I hurt Daniel because I thought it would help us and keep him from terrorizing our family … But now it might fuck everything up." He looked back at her, his eyes wide, frantic. "When we started dating, all I wanted to do help you heal, and keep you safe… But all I've done is hurt you."

"No, Punk, that's not true!" she protested, touching his cheek. "You've made me so happy, baby. You took me away from a horrible situation, gave me a wonderful little boy, and married me. And I _still _get to wrestle! I've got everything I've ever wanted with you. Don't…" She faltered for a moment, trying to swallow a sob that was rising in her throat. "Don't say that. I love you, and I love our life together." She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her ear to his chest. The firm, steady beat of his heart reassured her. It told her that everything was going to be okay. She could only hope this would hold true.

* * *

On Sunday morning, Punk hauled his family to the airport and flew to Texas for Hell in a Cell. He wasn't looking forward to this pay-per-view; he would be relinquishing his title belt to Wade Barret, and disappearing off TV for the foreseeable future. The more he thought about it, the angrier it made him. He was surly as they arrived at the arena; this interrupted title reign was only another consequence of his regrettable actions.

"Cheer up," AJ told him as they walked in, Phillip perched against one of her shoulders. "Do you know what today is?"

"The day my career ends?" Punk guessed.

"No," she said in a sing-songy voice. "You proposed to me at last year's Hell in a Cell."

"Oh, that's right." He nodded. "So the day my life ended." He hoped the joke would lighten the mood.

"Hey!" She slapped his arm playfully. "That wasn't funny." But she was smiling.

"Hey, _ladies_," Kofi greeted them lightly, embracing AJ and fist-pumping Punk. He smiled brightly at Phillip, taking him from AJ's arms and spinning him around.

"There's the champ!" Zack crowed, slapping Punk on the back as he trailed in with Kaitlyn. "Ready to conquer tonight?"

Punk frowned; they didn't know. "Actually, I'm dropping the belt tonight," he admitted.

"_What_?" Kaitlyn nearly shrieked. "Why? I thought you were still holding it until the end of the year."

"And you're not even gonna complain about it?" Kofi asked, handing the baby to Kaitlyn. "That's not like you, man!"

"I guess plans change," he muttered with a shake of his head. Grabbing his bag and Phillip's car seat, he walked away from the group and headed to the locker room to change.

"What's up with him?" Zack asked.

AJ hesitated; it was clear that Punk didn't want them to know. What could she say to cover for him? "He's… just tired," she said finally. "He had a late night with the baby."

"You sure?" Kofi pressed.

"I'm sure." Flashing them all her best, winning smile, she busied herself with Phillip and Kaitlyn. She hated lying to her friends, but it was clear Punk didn't want anyone knowing yet. As much as it pained her to hide things from them, she agreed with Punk's silent assessment. She didn't want them worrying… or wondering if the possible charges were true.

* * *

Punk was revolted by his performance that night. He let Wade largely take control of the match, letting himself be thrown brutally into the sides of the cage and get blasted off the top rope. He didn't want to, but the order had been handed down only moments before he went down to the ring; he was to make Wade look strong, so his acquisition of the title would look believable. He hated letting Wade toss him around the ring like a ragdoll, but he was too defeated to even argue the point. He didn't feel like himself anymore.

After a long, vicious brawl, Wade finally hit Punk with his finisher and pinned him. The cell was unlocked and AJ, who had been sitting silently at the commentary table throughout the match, rushed into the ring to help him. "It's okay, baby," she whispered, pulling his arm around her shoulders. With her support, he hobbled up the ramp as Wade celebrated in the ring with his new title.

"It's not okay," he muttered as soon as they reached the back hallway near the locker rooms, wincing as he stood up straight. He was definitely going to be sore in the morning; being thrown violently against a chain link fence a dozen times was no joke. "Even if I'm not charged, my career's being derailed. And so is yours, just because you're married to an asshole like me."

"Charged?" Zack echoed. "Charged with what?"

Punk whirled around; he hadn't been aware anyone was around. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Don't worry about it." He looked at AJ. "Where's Phillip?"

"He's in the diva's locker room with Kaitlyn," she answered, looking nervously from the Internet champion to her husband.

"Go get him," Punk said. "I want to get out of here and rest."

AJ nodded quickly and took off down the hallway. Punk turned to go to the men's locker room, intent on fetching his bag, but Zack caught him by the elbow.

"Dude, what's going on?" he asked. "You can't just blow me off with something like that."

"Nothing's going on," Punk insisted. "Just forget about it, Zack." He yanked his arm free and started down the hallway.

"I know when you're lying!" Zack called after him, but he'd already turned the corner. Zack sighed, turning to walk away. Something very wrong was happening with his friends, and they were shutting him and everyone else out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Get your tissue boxes ready for this one, people. There may be tears at the end.**

"That was a close one," AJ mentioned as soon as they got back to their hotel. "We have to be more careful about how and when we talk about... what's going on. Now Zack knows something's going on. He's not stupid."

"I know," Punk said quietly. "That was my fault. I'm being reckless." He sat down on the bed, burying his head in his hands.

"Oh, baby," she whispered, instantly feeling terrible about what she'd said. She sat down next to him, rubbing his back slowly. "No. It's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself. I hate seeing you like this."

"I can't help it," he muttered. He lifted his head to look at her. "I feel like time is running out. Like my life is ending and I have no control over it. I've barely slept in a week. Every time I heard a car pass by the house, I thought it was a cop car. Every time I heard a siren, I thought they were coming for me. I can't hold my son without feeling guilty, like I don't even deserve to have him. I'm just… I'm just waiting for everything to fall apart."

"It's not going to fall apart," she said firmly. "You just have to believe that everything will be okay."

He touched her cheek so gently she thought she would cry. "You're still so innocent," he whispered.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" she asked, covering his hand with hers. She wanted so desperately to wipe the look of abject horror and fear from his face.

He looked down for a moment, an idea coming to him. "Is Phillip asleep?" he asked.

She glanced at the door to the adjoining room where she'd put him in his playpen as soon as they got back. The baby monitor on their bedside table was silent. "Seems like it," she answered. "Why?"

In answer, his lips came crashing down on hers. Her eyes widened for a moment but she quickly responded, eager for him. He hadn't touched her in nearly a week, not since the previous Tuesday. She was surprised that tonight of all nights he would be in the mood, but she wasn't about to turn him down. If this was what he needed to quiet the terrible thoughts in his head, she would gladly give him what he desired.

He stripped off her shirt, pressing his bare chest to hers as he began to fumble with her bra clasp. She groaned against his lips, separating from him long enough to toss the undergarment aside. With her chest free he drew her down onto the bed, sliding his hands down her sides until he reached her shorts. She started to help him unbutton them, but he gently moved her hands away.

"No," he whispered seductively. "Let me."

She nodded slowly, pressing her head back against the pillow as he slid the rest of her clothing down her legs, discarding his own shorts a moment later. His glassy eyes locked gazes with hers, and she watched with silent excitement as his body rose over hers. She began to part her legs for him, but he just shook his head, instead pressing a soft kiss behind her ear. She frowned slightly, a little confused; what was he doing?

He worked his way down the length of her, leaving a trail of kisses from her neck down to ankles. He was memorizing her- the curves of her frame, the surface of her golden skin, the waves of her hair. He ran his hands over the peaks of her knees, the valley of the small of her back, the nape of her neck. Her body shivered in pleasure as his fingertips ghosted over her. Lost in his addicting touch, she didn't understand the purpose for his tender, delicate manner as he handled her. But it would become clear to her later, when she looked back on this night.

He was saying goodbye.

With his journey across the whole of her body finished, he moved back up to her chest. He took her full, ample breasts into his hands, thumbing her nipples lightly. She instantly felt the space between her legs flush with heat. "Oh, P-" she began, but he trapped her moan between his own lips. He kissed her fiercely, letting one of his hands drift below her waist. He slipped two fingers between her already swollen folds, deftly rocking them back and forth. She had to tear her lips away from his, her breath hitching in her throat. It wasn't long before his deliberate strokes and teases pushed her over the peak of pleasure; she bucked against his hand desperately.

As her body slowed into a gentle shudder, she began to catch her breath. She wanted so badly to give him the same treatment he had gifted to her. She wanted to guide her hands all over his lean, muscled body, to trace the intricate designs of his tattoos, to run her tongue across his tight flesh… But he wasn't done with her yet. Just as feeling began to return to her lower half he pried her legs apart, thrusting his throbbing length between them. She let out a sharp gasp, her arms encircling his shoulders as he began to move inside her. He started off slow, at first, sliding in and out of her gently. Her nails dug deeper into his back as he moved faster and faster, his hips pressed flush against hers. By the time he brought her to the brink again, his thrusts were almost violent. She cried out as she quivered around him, muffling her moans against his neck. He quickly followed her, his back arching sharply as he filled her. He collapsed on her a moment later, his body still heaving.

"Baby?" she whispered breathlessly. "You're crying."

He couldn't speak. He just held her.

* * *

Zack observed the Punk family carefully as they arrived at the arena for RAW the next day. "You guys all right?" he asked. They looked far too tired.

"Everything's fine," AJ assured him, before Punk could even open his mouth.

"You sure?" Zack pressed, unconvinced. What he heard the previous night still unnerved him.

"Positive," Punk answered. "I'm just kind of pissed. I'm losing a title rematch to Wade tonight. It's a bit of an ego blow."

"Damn," Zack muttered with a shake of his head. "Who did you piss off?"

_If only you knew, _Punk thought, hoisting Phillip into a more comfortable position. "I'm gonna go entertain this little guy for awhile," he said. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

"All right, now that he's gone, spill," Zack ordered.

AJ shook her head. "There's nothing to spill," she said, although her stomach churned at the lie.

"Will you at least talk to me, then?" Kaitlyn asked, coming up behind them. "Come on, April. I _know _when you're hiding something from me." She prodded her best friend's ribs playfully with her index finger. "Come on, Chickbuster. Spill it!"

A brief smile broke out onto her face; even when trying to extract information, Kaitlyn always knew how to make her laugh. "Nothing, Kait," she assured her after a small giggle. "Everything's all right. Really." Another lie; her stomach flopped again. She wasn't sure what was more painful to think about- the entirety of the legal situation they could be facing soon, or the fact that Punk was already convinced his life was over. His breakdown the previous night, tears soaking her as he clung to her, was proof of how far he'd fallen.

* * *

"Someday," Punk told his son, "you're going to be standing next to me up here."

The area was empty now, many hours for before the show started; plenty of time to get some quality bonding in the one of the only places Punk had ever truly felt at home. Sitting against a ring post, he watched as Phillip crawled around giddily on the mat. Bubbly laughter erupted from him as he scooted closer to his father, scrambling up his leg. "We'll be in this ring together," Punk continued, sitting the cheerful baby on his lap. "I don't know how, and I don't know when, but I'll make it happen. And if I don't… I know you will." He smiled broadly at his spitting image, bouncing his little boy up and down on his knee.

"_Punk_!" came AJ's hysterical cry from the top of the ramp.

He turned his head to face her, seeing his wife standing alone on the stage. But she was quickly flanked by four police officers. His blood ran cold as soon as he saw them; he was sure his heart had skipped a few beats. "No, no, no," he muttered weakly, standing up with Phillip in his arms. "No…" He watched as the rest of the roster, along with many other personnel; he was sure they were eager to find out what was going on.

AJ ran down to the ring, beating the officers there. "Why are they here?" Punk pleaded, but her tear-filled eyes told him what he needed to know.

"Mr. Brooks, please come down and give the baby to your wife," one of the officers instructed.

He shook his head frantically. "No," he whispered, clinging to Phillip. The baby quickly picked up on the tension in the air and began to whimper a little.

"Do you really want to do this in front of your son?" another officer asked. "Come on down. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be."

He looked at Phillip; tears were already beginning to form in his mirror-image eyes. He didn't want to do it… But he also couldn't bear to use his son as a shield. He nodded to the cops and ducked under the ropes, slowly easing off the apron. He stretched his arms out to AJ, holding Phillip out to her. As he was passed from his father to his mother, he began to wail. As soon as he was clear of Punk's embrace, the officers surrounded him.

"Phil Brooks, you're under arrest for the attempted murder of Bryan Danielson," one of them announced, readying his cuffs.

In the end, he struggled. As the handcuffs were clicked around his wrists he tried to jerk away, struggling in the officer's grasp. The other three immediately swarmed him, grabbing his arms firmly as he tried desperately to wrench himself free.

AJ dropped to her knees as she watched the arrest unfold before her. Kaitlyn quickly rushed to her side, collecting the baby from her arms before any harm could come to him. AJ could only watch in sheer horror as Punk was dragged away, leaving a sobbing wife, a screaming son, and a stunned WWE crew in his wake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Hey everyone! Wow, chapter 8 already. This one seems to be rolling out a lot faster than my last two stories. Now I normally don't say things like this, but I have a small request: is there any way I can get some more reviews? I don't care about an actual number or anything, but I feel like no one is reading this story and it's just a little discouraging. I love reviews, they let me know I'm doing something right and that everyone is enjoying my writing. Anyway, enough of my babbling, onto chapter 8!**

"This?" Zack cried. "This is what's going on? And neither of you ever thought to tell us?"

"Zack, stop," Kaitlyn begged, fighting tears as she clutched Phillip in an attempt to soothe him. "This isn't what anyone needs right now."

"My best friend just got arrested for attempted murder!" he snapped. "What the fuck am I _supposed _to say when something like this happens?" The reaction of rage was very uncharacteristic of the usually easy-going internet champion, but he'd never been faced with a situation like this before.

"We can always go find and beat the hell out of whoever posted these fucking pictures," Kofi growled. He was standing across the room, gripping his phone so hard he thought it would break. "This shit is already on the internet." He held his phone out to them, the screen displaying a TMZ article. At the top was a slightly blurred but large photo of Punk being held on the ground by four police officers. There was another picture a few lines down, of AJ on her knees near the ring, sobbing.

"Are you _kidding _me?" Kaitlyn shouted. "What kind of asshole would take pictures of this?"

As her friends argued around her, AJ was hugging her knees. She was completely numb. This wasn't happening. She and Phillip had not seen Punk being forcibly dragged away from them, kicking and screaming the whole way. Streaks of tears were dried on her cheeks now, as she was unable to cry anymore. Her whole body shook as she sat on the floor of the locker room, trying to force herself to wake up. But it wasn't happening.

"Well, we have to go bail him out," Zack said frantically. He'd been pacing the room the whole time, his trademark purple headband balled up in one of his fists.

"We can't yet," Kofi reminded him. "They're going to hold him till his arraignment, and that's when they'll set his bail. That could be tomorrow, or it could be the next day."

"How do you know all this?" Kaitlyn asked. "Have you been hanging out with Otunga lately?"

The African-born wrestler shook his head. "I did graduate from college, you know," he reminded her. "I got a business degree, but I took a few pre-law classes, too."

"Shit," Zack muttered. "We have to get him a lawyer. But David isn't even here."

"Yellow pages?" Kaitlyn suggested lightly.

"Oh, come on!" Zack snapped. "This is serious!"

"_Stop_!" AJ shrieked finally, standing up. Her tone shocked even Phillip into stunned silence. "Stop it, all of you!" They all stared at her, eyes widened.

"What do you want us to do, AJ?" Kaitlyn asked in a soft, gentle voice.

"I just… I just want my husband back!" She began to sob again, surprised that she had even been able to produce any more tears.

"Come here," Zack said, pulling her into his arms. He let her cry against him. She need to hold onto someone- _anyone_. She needed to know she was still tethered to reality.

* * *

Punk had been arrested before. He'd been in handcuffs before. He'd been in the back of a cop car before. He'd even spent a night in jail before. But he'd never been accused of trying to kill a man before.

By the time they got him into a police cruiser, he stopped resisting. He went limp, allowing them to handle him like a rag doll as they guided him into the police station. They dropped him onto a chair that was bolted to the floor, cuffing him to the arm rest.

Time passed; he wasn't sure how long. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. He'd been fairly numb up until that point, but seeing officers drag other recent arrests through the building and hearing cell doors being slammed shut made the whole thing alarmingly real. As he sat, dazed, he recalled AJ's grief-stricken face as he'd been dragged away. A painful pang of sorrow rose in this throat; he quickly quashed it, swallowing hard. He couldn't afford to show emotions here. Not now.

"Brooks!" an officer behind the desk called. Another cop came over to him, unlocking him from the chair and leading him down another hallway. He was positioned in front of a gray screen, and they handed him a black placard with his name on it.

"Smile for the camera," the officer jeered from behind a stand with a computer on it, and a dizzying flash went off. Punk briefly wondered how long it would be for his mug shot ended up all over the Internet. Knowing this day and age, he surmised that it wouldn't take too long.

After the photo, he was cuffed to another chair, this time in front of a desk. They took down all of his information, including detailed descriptions of his many tattoos and scars. This, along with photographs of each of them, took nearly 45 minutes. Punk spoke in a deadpan voice throughout the entire process, his eyes glassy and cast at the floor. He found it was easier if he simply turned his brain off, blocking out any attempt at emotion. He knew if he didn't, he would start thinking about AJ and Phillip again, and how badly he'd let them down.

With the processing phase finally completed, he was led to a holding cell. He covered his ears when they slammed the door shut- the sound made every bone in his body ache. "Hey, wait!" he called to the officer, a thought occurring to him. "What happens now?"

The officer turned on his heel to face Punk. "You're going to be our guest for tonight," he answered. "Then a few lucky winners get to cart you down to the courthouse tomorrow morning for your arraignment."

"Don't I get a phone call?"

The officer smirked. "You watch too many movies, you know that? You don't actually reserve the right to use the phone. If you're on your best behavior, we might give you the privilege… but we're under no obligation to give it to you." He turned away, loud footsteps echoing down the hallway. Punk was left to his own devices, in a tiny cell the size of a closet.

Groaning, Punk lowered himself onto the narrow metal bunk that jutted out from the wall. His body was quite sore-the arresting officers had been very rough with him, and he was still healing from his brutal match with Wade from the previous night. He turned over onto his back, staring at the aged concrete ceiling above him.

He allowed himself now to wonder where AJ was. He wondered if she was still at the arena, or if someone had taken her back to the hotel to cry in peace. He wondered if she'd tried to call the police station yet. He wondered if his friends were taking care of her, or if they were angry at him for not telling them what was going on. He thought about Phillip, and if anyone had been able to soothe poor baby. Probably not. His son was keenly tuned to his parents' emotions, and often responded to the tension with anger and fear.

_I'm so sorry, _he thought miserably, his wife and son's terrified faces flashing before him. _This is all my fault. I let both of you down. _


	9. Chapter 9

Instead of heading to the next city for Smackdown after RAW that night, AJ's friends elected instead to stay by her side.

"Are you sure?" she asked as she loaded a blessedly sleeping Phillip into her rental car. He finally cried himself to sleep a few hours ago, just as the show started.

"Positive," Kofi answered as he climbed into the passenger seat. "I want to be there for you guys." He'd been on the phone all day, yelling at secretaries and police officers and demanding answers. Although he hadn't been able to talk to Punk, he did manage to scrape together some information about the arraignment- tomorrow at the local county courthouse, 9 AM sharp.

"The next city is only about 45 minutes away," Zack added as he and Kaitlyn piled into the back. He spoke softly, as not to wake the sleeping baby next to him. "As soon as you bail him out, we can just get on the road."

"I just don't want to make you guys late," AJ muttered, driving out of the parking lot and heading for the hotel. "I've caused enough trouble already."

"Do I really have to tell you to shut up?" Kaitlyn asked. "On behalf of the other two idiots in this car, I promise you, it's _fine_. We want to be here for you."

"All right, I was just making sure," AJ relented. She was silent for a moment, staring out at the largely traffic-free road. "Thanks, guys."

Kaitlyn reached over the seat to squeeze AJ's shoulder, smiling. "We've got your back," she said.

* * *

The single bulb in Punk's cell flashed on early the next morning. He groaned, squinting as he swung his legs over the side of the bunk. Scratching idly at his knees, he noticed a small black stain the leg of his jeans. He made a quick note to burn (or at the very least, dispose of) the clothing he was arrested in as soon as he got the opportunity. If he ever got the opportunity.

_Hey, stop thinking like that, _he scolded himself. But he couldn't help but obsess over the very real possibility of him not going home anytime soon.

"Brooks!" came the disgruntled voice of an officer as he neared Punk's cell. "Get off your ass. Your lawyer is here."

"Lawyer?" Punk asked, frowning as he stood up. "I don't have a lawyer. You didn't let me use the phone last night, remember?"

"Well, I can just send this guy away…"

"No no!" Punk said quickly. "I'll see him. Maybe my wife hired him."

The officer simply shrugged uncaringly. "Put your hands through the bars," he ordered. Punk complied, and the officer cuffed him before pushing him back so he could open the door. He then led his prisoner down the hallway, stopping at an unmarked door.

"If I'm going to meet with my lawyer, can I at least be uncuffed?" Punk asked hopefully as the officer opened the door. He didn't answer, merely unlocking him and pushing him into the room, which was already occupied by a suit-clad man.

"I'll be outside," the officer advised. "Don't get smart." He left.

Alone, Punk was now able to study the man claiming to be his lawyer. He was a little shorter than Punk, and relatively skinny. Thin-rimmed glasses framed his eyes. At first glance, he looked like someone who would be easily overlooked… But Punk knew better than to judge a book by its cover. This man was not to be taken lightly- Punk could tell. Everything from his cold blue eyes, to his slicked back black hair, to his sharp features told the former champion that this man was a force to be reckoned with.

"Who are you?" Punk asked finally, still standing by the door.

The man stood up, crossing the room. "My name is Jason Paxton," he answered, holding out his hand for Punk to shake. "I'll be your attorney." Punk declined his hand; undeterred, Paxton returned to his seat.

"So you just walk in here, and suddenly you're my lawyer?" Punk asked in disbelief. Who the hell did this guy think he was? "That leaves me a ton of other questions. How do you know me? How did you know I was arrested? How did you know where I was?" His voice rose with each question.

"I think you should sit down," Paxton advised calmly.

"I'll stand, thanks," Punk replied coolly. "Answer my questions."

"When something like this happens… Let's just say word travels fast," Paxton said. "I heard about your arrest the day it happened, and I came as quickly as I could. You're a popular man, Mr. Brooks."

"Call me Punk," the wrestler said automatically. The people who called him by his given name were few and far between.

Paxton winced. "Right," he said. "_Punk_. That's going to go over very well with the jury."

"I am who I am," Punk said tersely. "I don't pretend for anyone."

He sighed. "Look, do you want my help or not?" Paxton asked, fixing him with a point-blank stare. "Because I think I can get you out of this… but you're going to have to work with me."

"I don't think I'm really in a position to turn you down," Punk answered. "But I still have another question for you."

"Shoot, tough guy," Paxton said.

"Why did you rush over here? What makes me so special?"

"I've tangled with your new friend Jameson more than a few times," Paxton replied. "When he's out for blood-and it looks like he wants yours-he's a shark. Lucky for you, so am I. So, are you ready to sit down and talk to me?"

"All right," Punk relented, taking a seat on the other side of the table. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of this man, but the longer they spoke for, the more Punk was sure he would need his help. "I'll bite. Where do we start?"

"Your arraignment." He opened his briefcase. "That's in two hours. We'll enter a plea of not guilty."

"And where do we go from there?"

"I do some digging, and we put together the best defense so they don't throw your ass in jail for 15 to 20 years," Paxton said simply.

* * *

AJ and the gang had been sitting in the spectator rows of the court room since 7 AM. Phillip was asleep next to her in his car seat, having drifted off after being given a bottle earlier. He'd had a rough night (as AJ expected), so he was still exhausted. She was glad the loud voices and the sound of the gavel banging hadn't woke him up.

"Why isn't he here yet?" she muttered nervously, rubbing her arms to suppress a shiver. The night had been an absolute nightmare for her- she hadn't slept at all, as she was terrified she would never see Punk again.

"Relax," Zack said soothingly, squeezing her hand. "It's barely 9."

"He should be here soon," Kofi assured her.

As if on cue, the door behind them opened. A bailiff entered, gripping a very tattooed arm as he led a handcuffed man up the aisle.

"Punk!" AJ squeaked, jumping to her feet. Her heart sank at the sight of him in handcuffs.

He immediately turned his head to look at her, but the bailiff yanked him forward. "Let's go," the officer growled, leading him up to the defense table.

"Calm down," Kaitlyn advised gently, pulling AJ down. "Let's listen."

A man she didn't recognize stood up from the front row, joining Punk at the table. "Jason Paxton for the defense, your honor," the man announced.

The judge nodded. "Plea?" he asked.

The man-Paxton?-nudged Punk in the side gently with his elbow. "Uh, not guilty," Punk sputtered out.

Nodding again, the judge looked to the other table, where presumable the assistant district attorney stood. "I'm sure you'll have something to say on bail," he said.

"We're asking for remand," the ADA replied. "The defendant's been charged with a particularly violent crime, one that he committed in front of millions of people. He has a passport, many ties both international and domestic, and plenty of ways to flee."

"Your honor, that's ridiculous," Paxton cut in. "Mr. Brooks has a wife and infant son here. He's a law-abiding citizen, and he's not a violent man outside of the staged activities of his job. Not to mention, he's an internationally revered superstar. He's been on television at least once a week for the past 7 and a half years. Where's he going to hide?"

The judge stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I don't see why there's any reason to keep him behind bars during his trial," he said, "although you certainly look the part, young man."

"Then we also ask that the defendant have no contact with the victim, Bryan Danielson," the ADA added. "They're both involved in the same business and have many mutual friends, but there's no reason to subject him to further anguish."

"Agreed," the judge said. "Mr. Brooks will forfeit his passport and have no contact with Bryan Danielson. Bail is set at 5 million dollars, cash or bond." He banged his gavel.

"5 million?" Punk echoed as Paxton collected his briefcase. "Shit."

"You'll get it back when we win," Paxton assured him.

"Come on, Brooks," said the bailiff, grabbing Punk's arm again. "Back to your cage till the wife bails your ass out." He started to haul him to the door.

"I'll get you out as soon as I can, baby," AJ promised as he passed by. "I love you!" As she went to grab Phillip's car seat, Jason Paxton appeared beside her.

"Let's go get your husband bailed out," he said.

"Who are you?" AJ asked uncertainly, stepping back closer to Zack and Kofi.

"His lawyer," he answered. "Jason Paxton. I'll explain later. Let's go."

AJ looked at the group. "You guys can go," she said. "I'm going to pay his bail."

"Are you sure?" Kaitlyn asked. "We can still stay and-"

"I'm positive," AJ said. "I don't want to hold you guys up any longer than I already have. Thanks for being here with me. Really."

They walked out reluctantly, each saying goodbye to her with a long hug. "All right," Paxton said. "Grab the baby and let's get down to the clerk. This could take a little while."

"What happens after this?" AJ asked, readjusting Phillip's car seat as they walked out of the court room. "Do we have to stay here for the trial?"

"The trial's going to be where the alleged crime took place, in New Jersey," he informed her as they walked. "He was arraigned here because he was arrested here. But once we get him out, you can take him home. Chicago, right?"

She nodded, and they were silent for a moment as they got into the elevator. "So what do I pay you?"

He just smiled. "Don't worry about that," he said. "This one's personal."

They reached the clerk's office a moment later, where, predictably, there was a line. They waited patiently as drunk drivers and low level drug addicts paid their bond; none of them were anywhere near as expensive as what AJ would be shelling out. After nearly an hour, they were finally able to approach the desk. Setting Phillip's car seat down next to her, she opened her wallet.

The clerk frowned. "Your card was rejected," she said.

"Are you sure?" AJ asked. "Can you scan it again?"

She did; nothing. "I'm sorry," she said sadly. "You'll have to step aside."

"This is ridiculous," AJ growled. "There's $10 million in that account."

"You probably have a transaction limit," Paxton suggested. "Call your bank."

Sighing, AJ dug out her phone and called their bank's help line. After being put on hold and transferred several times, she lowered her phone in horror. "They said the assets were frozen," she whispered.

"What?" Paxton snapped. "Did they say why?"

"They told me the account was put on hold by law enforcement," she answered shakily. Her hands shook as she pocketed her phone; how would she get Punk out now?

"Well, use your money, then," Paxton said. "I'll see if I can get his unfrozen in the meantime."

"I… I can't," she stammered. "We have a joint account." Tears were forming in her eyes. "What does this mean, if I can't post bail?"

Paxton sighed. "That means he goes to county jail," he answered.


	10. Chapter 10

AJ felt a sharp, white-hot pain strike her chest. "N-no," she stammered, trying to steady herself against the counter. "He… he can't go to jail…" Her knees began to feel weak. The very thought of Punk being torn away from her again made them give out; she sank to the floor next to Phillip's car seat, shivering.

"Hey, come on, get up," Paxton said gruffly, grabbing her by the arm. "You can't do this here."

"Why does it even matter?" she cried, gathering the stares of everyone else in the room. "My husband is going to jail!"

The high pitch of her voice woke the sleeping baby next to her. Confused in this unfamiliar environment, he reached out feebly. "Dada?" he asked hopefully. The earnestness in her son's voice only made AJ cry harder.

"It matters because we're going to try to make sure that _doesn't _happen," Paxton told her. "Come on. Get up. We're going to find the ADA and find out why the hell your assets were frozen." He started out of the room, leaving AJ to scramble up with the car seat and follow him. They proceeded down a winding staircase to the front of the courthouse, where they found the man Paxton had battled against for bail standing near the entrance with several other lawyers.

"Hey!" Paxton called. "You want to tell me why Mrs. Brooks wasn't able to pay her husband's bail this morning?"

The ADA turned to him, frowning. "That sounds like a personal problem between Mrs. Brooks and her own assets," he said coolly.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," Paxton snapped. "Their bank account was frozen by law enforcement. I want to know why this happened, and why I wasn't told."

"Come on, Mr. Paxton," the ADA replied with a snicker. "In case you haven't noticed, your client is a violent, physically powerful professional wrestler. When the warrant for his arrest was issued, we froze his account so he wouldn't be able to flee if he'd managed to avoid arrest at the sports arena."

"He went peacefully with the arresting officers, in case you hadn't noticed," Paxton pointed out angrily. "So why wasn't the account released when he was taken into custody? That account is also under his wife's name. You remember his wife, right?" He gestured vaguely to his left, where AJ stood clutching Phillip's car seat. With her shoulders hunched and her head ducked, she looked even smaller than normal. "She uses that account to pay their bills and care for their son. You have no right to continue withholding funds from her."

The ADA rolled his eyes. "You can save the dramatic exposition," he said drearily. "I'll see about having it unfrozen. But you know how long bureaucracy takes… It could take anywhere from 72 hours to a week for the order to go through."

Paxton tightened his grip on the handle of his briefcase. "This isn't over," he snapped. "I'm reporting you to the bar for this."

"Sure you will," the ADA said with a smirk. "Go back to New York, Paxton. We don't need your kind down here." He turned away dismissively.

"What did he say?" AJ nearly whispered as Paxton stormed off, back to where she waited for him.

"Start calling your friends," Paxton answered with exasperation. "There's nothing I can do for now."

* * *

Sitting on the steps of the courthouse, AJ spent an hour on the phone, calling both her bank and her friends in a desperate attempt to scrape the money together. The gang was unable to help- even with all the liquid assets they had put together, Kofi, Kaitlyn, Zack, and Colt came up short of the total. Collateral wouldn't work, either; their Chicago home wasn't worth anywhere near enough to put up for bond. She even called Triple H, but her boss firmly denied her frantic request. "The company has to stay out of this," he told her.

With all of her options exhausted, tears of frustration began to form in her eyes. She looked at Phillip, who was strapped helplessly into his car seat. He seemed just as frustrated as his mother; since waking up, he'd been calling for his father nonstop. Now, by nearly noon, he was rocking back and forth restlessly in an attempt to get her attention.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry," she said, unbuckling him. "You're probably hungry, aren't you?" She bounced him a few times on her knee, moving a few strands of hair from in front of his face. "I thought we'd be on our way home with your daddy by now… I'll get you something to eat soon, I promise."

"Dada," Phillip demanded.

Her heart broke for him; what was she to tell her 8-month-old about his father's whereabouts? He wouldn't be able to understand. "I know, baby," she whispered, rubbing his back. "Soon, I hope."

"Dada!" he repeated more insistently, waving his arms.

AJ frowned slightly, turning her head to glance in the direction her son was pointing… only to see her handcuffed husband being led down the steps by two police officers. She immediately jumped to her feet with Phillip in her arms, her heart skipping wildly as she rushed to meet him. His eyes widened at the sight of them- he didn't want Phillip to see him, knowing they would be torn apart so quickly.

"Step away, ma'am," one of the officers ordered.

"Please," Punk begged. "This is my wife and son. Can I just have a few minutes?"

The officers glanced at each other for a moment before shrugging. "_One _minute," the other replied.

"They're… taking me to the county jail," Punk said shakily. "Why didn't you bail me out?"

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," AJ sobbed. She tried to keep it together for Phillip, but seeing Punk so frightened made her unravel at the seams. His eyes didn't hold the sense of the strong, brawling, no-nonsense man she fell in love with. He was terrified of what lay ahead, and it showed. She wiped her tears on her sleeve, biting her lip as the baby reached out to touch his father's cheek happily. "I tried, but they froze our account! Paxton is trying to get them to release it, but he says it could take some time… I'm so sorry…"

"Shhh," he whispered. "It's not your fault. Go on, get yourselves out of here."

"I'll visit you as much as they let me," she promised, fighting back more tears with a sharp bite to her bottom lip.

To her surprise, Punk shook his head. "Don't," he said. "I don't want either of you to see me in jail. I don't want his first concrete memories of me to be while I'm wearing a jumpsuit."

"You won't be in there that long!" she cried. "Don't say that!"

"Take care of him," he said firmly, kissing Phillip's forehead. For once, their son was blissfully unaware of what was happening around him.

"Baby…" she pleaded. He kissed her just as the officers returned to his side, taking either of his arms.

"I love you," he told her, his voice beginning to break. She couldn't answer him as the officers dragged him away from her for the second time. Predictably, Phillip was back to wailing again; he didn't take too kindly to being separated from his father again after their brief moment of interaction.

"Dada!" he cried, jerking his tiny body in the direction of the cop car at the bottom of the steps. His arms were flailing, reaching desperately to grab at an arm that was no longer there. "Dada! Dada!" No matter what AJ whispered to him, no matter how sweetly she sang to him and how closely she rocked him, he would not be soothed. Mother and son both watched painfully as the most important man in their life was driven away from them.


	11. Chapter 11

Punk remained silent throughout the drive. Watching AJ and Phillip break down was more than enough to send him over the edge of panic and sorrow, but he refused to give in. He had to stay strong, if not for himself and his family, then at least so he wouldn't give the surly officers who'd been dragging him around all day the satisfaction. But even as he resisted, his family's faces were constantly before him.

Processing at the county jail, it turns out, was far more extensive than it was for spending a night at the police station. After strip-searching him (a process that he wanted to bludgeon from the depths of his memory), the guards took even more detailed photos and descriptions of his tattoos. Then he was moved to the medical unit, where a nurse took down his medical history.

"Can't you just get all of this from your computer?" Punk asked tiredly, hour three into the process. He was handcuffed to a chair now, where he was being fingerprinted again. He wasn't exactly eager to get to a cell, but he'd grown tired of being dragged from place to place. He just wanted to lie down on whatever grimy bunk he was going to be assigned to, and spend hours wondering just how he'd gotten himself into this mess.

"Different system," the guard grunted, not even looking up. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll be behind bars soon enough, if that's what you're waiting for."

The guard was right. After being tossed a paper towel to wipe the ink from his hands, Punk was given an orange jumpsuit. He hesitated as he changed; this sealed it. He was a jail inmate now. The bright, obnoxiously colored uniform was a glaring reminder of the reality he was facing.

"Hurry up!" the guard snapped.

"All right, all right," Punk growled. Shaking out of his trance, he zipped the jumpsuit up over the undershirt he'd been provided and allowed himself to be led out to a cell block. The inmates started to jeer as soon as Punk passed by- rattling on the doors, calling out to him, hurling insults at him.

"New fish!" "Fresh meat!" "Come here, boy!"

Punk ignored them all. He held his head high, staring straight ahead as the guard led him down the line. He knew he couldn't show any weakness, lest he be pegged as someone easily taken advantage of. Standing patiently, he waited as the guard signaled for a cell to be opened.

"Have fun, Brooks," the guard told him, shutting the door as soon as Punk was inside. "Lucky for you, you don't have a roommate yet."

And he was alone.

* * *

AJ was too shaken to drive back to the hotel; in the end, Paxton had to take her and Phillip back. "Just sit tight," he told her as he dropped the fragmented Brooks family off. "I'm going to take care of this as quickly as possible, okay? I'll be in touch."

She nodded silently, but she wasn't so sure she believed him. Her emotions were completely shot; she'd never known before what was truly like to feel so dead inside. But she couldn't just shut down; her son needed her now more than ever. She carried a restless Phillip up to the room, where she fed him his much-needed lunch. She tried to talk to him and sing to him as he ate, but even at such a young age, he could tell she wasn't enthused. He responded mildly to her attempts, falling asleep for his nap shortly after finishing his food. She felt awful for not being able to properly attend to her son's needs… but she was barely able to keep her head above water right now.

Not long after she put Phillip down, her phone began to ring. Unsurprisingly, it was Kaitlyn. AJ didn't want to answer, but she knew her best friend would just keep calling, so she lifted the phone to her ear. "Hello?" she muttered.

"AJ!" Kaitlyn cried. "Are you okay? I heard you weren't able to find another way to make the bail. I'm so sorry we couldn't help."

She frowned, sitting up on the bed. "How did you hear?" she asked.

"It's all over the news," Kaitlyn answered. "They showed footage of Punk leaving the courthouse and you and Phillip crying. Did you not see the cameras?"

"No," AJ admitted after a moment of thought. She'd been completely absorbed in the aftermath of the arraignment and her tearful goodbye to Punk. "I didn't see any at all. I didn't even notice."

"Well, that doesn't matter," Kaitlyn said. "Do you know how long he's going to be in there?"

"I'm not sure," she whispered. "Oh, Kait, I don't know what I'm going to do. My husband is in jail and my son his miserable without him, and I might not be able to get him out for another week!"

Despite knowing most of this information already, Kaitlyn was left stunned. "Just… keep it together, sweetie," she said quietly. "I'll drive back over after Smackdown, and-"

"No!" AJ cried. "I want to be alone, Kaitlyn. Just… just leave me alone." She hung up abruptly, tossing her phone on the bedside table. This bed was far too big for one person, and she was positive she could still smell Punk's cologne on her pillow. She hugged it to her chest, fighting back tears. She didn't know why she was pushing her best friend away, but she couldn't possibly stand anyone else's company right now. She just wanted to close her eyes and wake up six months ago.

* * *

Punk spent his first couple of hours as an official inmate lying on his bunk, staring at the metal surface of the bed above him. He was trying to turn his brain off, much the way he had before. But with the mind-numbing lack of activity in jail, so far he hadn't been successful. Every time he blinked, he saw one of two things- his family, or Daniel. He thought he'd left the guilt he'd been carrying about his former friend behind, but now it was back with a vengeance. And he had a new bout of guilt now, too- from leaving his family behind.

As he was pondering his life's mistakes, a loud buzzer sounded and his cell door opened. Glancing out, he saw that the other cells had been opened, too, and all of the inmates were filing down the hallway. It didn't take Punk long to figure out what was going on- judging by how long it had been since his arrival, it was probably time for dinner. With a deep breath, he stepped out on to the tier and shuffled along with the rest of the inmates.

Following behind the others (and under the watchful eyes of the guards), he found himself in a large cafeteria. After getting their trays, inmates were quickly breaking into groups amongst the many long tables in the room. _Shit, it's like high school, _he thought as he got in line to receive a tray of food.

'Food' was a term to be used loosely- the substances he was given didn't resemble any food Punk had ever seen. Mashed potatoes, maybe. And the square block of meat might have been meatloaf. He supposed it didn't matter much- he probably wouldn't be able to stomach any food for awhile, anyway. But now he was left with the biggest problem- where would he sit?

Turning around, he surveyed the room uncertainly. There was an obvious division of race in most parts- that much was clear. But beyond that, Punk was at a loss. Where did the new kids sit? This was a hopeless endeavor. The only thing he could do was pick a table and hope for the best. Shrugging, he picked the one nearest to the food line. It was about half full. The inmates at the other end of the table ignored him for awhile. But about 15 minutes into dinner, one of the men turned to look at him with a curious expression.

"Got something to say?" Punk asked boldly. He instantly cursed himself for his brashness. What if this guy had a hair trigger?

"Yeah," the man answered slowly. He was skinny- Punk guessed he was probably a drug addict. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

_Fuck. _Punk hadn't even considered the possibility of being recognized until now. Would this turn out to be a good thing or a bad thing? "Doubt it," he replied after a moment of hesitation.

The man shook his head. "No, I'm sure I've seen you before," he said. "You ever been on TV?"

"Nope," Punk said coolly. "You've got me confused with someone else. I'm a nobody."

"He's lyin'," another man with a thick Texan accent piped up. He was older than the first, more grizzled. "I've seen him on TV. On the wrestling show."

"RAW?" a third man asked.

"Now I know who you are!" the first man exclaimed. "You're the champion. You're CM Punk."

_Fuck. _The cat was out of the bag, now. There was no point in denying it. "Not champion anymore," Punk muttered, looking down at his tray. "I lost on Sunday."

"No way," the Texan said. "Punk? Look at me, boy. Let me see your face." He grinned. "Yeah, I remember you. You're the one always talkin' about how good you are. Where's all that talk now, huh? Still think you're better than all us?"

Punk didn't answer; he didn't want this to get ugly. He just poked at his uneaten food idly with his fork.

"Come on!" the skinny man said. "Where's one of those pipe bombs?"

"Fresh out," Punk answered stiffly. He was starting to get worried; why were these guys egging him on?

"Aw, he ain't gonna play ball with us," the Texan jeered. "What's the matter, boy?"

"He's probably missing that girl of his," the third man said. "The tiny little crazy bitch."

"Oh, I know that girl," the first one said. "I'd turn that baby upside down." He grinned.

"Bet she's just as crazy with her mouth," a fourth man jeered.

"Shut your fucking mouths," Punk snapped, before he could stop himself. Hearing them say such vulgar things about his wife made his ears burn.

"Oh, now we've got a live one!" the skinny man howled.

But the Texan wasn't amused. Eyes narrowed, he glared across the table at Punk. "You better watch your tone with me, boy," he advised coldly.

Thankfully, the same buzzer from earlier sounded a moment later. Punk immediately got up, abandoning his tray as he lined up to return to his cell. _Nice job, _he thought. _I've been here for six hours and I've already got enemies. _How would he ever survive this?


	12. Chapter 12

Colt hopped on the first available flight to Texas as soon as he'd gotten word of what happened. He felt awful about not being able to help- he wanted desperately to come to his best friend's rescue, but he didn't exactly make the big bucks working the indy circuit. The best he could do would be showing up for moral support, but AJ hadn't been answering his phone calls since the first time she contacted him earlier, begging for bail money. Her lack of contact worried him; it was all the more reason for him to get there as quickly as possible.

He called AJ again as soon as he got out of the airport. "Come on, baby girl," he muttered, rocking back and forth on his heels as he tried to hail a cab. "Pick up the phone. Pick up the phone. Damn it!" He hung up just has AJ's recorded voicemail message began to play, shoving the phone back in his pocket. He had no idea where she and Phillip were staying, and she wasn't offering him any help to that matter. Where was he to go from here?

A taxi stopped in front of him as he mulled over his options. "Where to, boss?" the driver asked him.

"County jail," Colt answered. He didn't know what the visiting hours were like, or if Punk would even be allowed to have visitors, but he had nowhere else to go until AJ called him back. So he rode along in the sweltering Texas heat, trying to steel his nerves. He'd never visited anyone in jail before, let alone the one person he never expected to end up there.

It was a surprisingly short distance from the airport to the jail. This unnerved Colt; he wasn't sure if he was prepared yet to see the man who was practically his brother behind bars. But they had arrived, and before he knew it Colt was paying the cab driver and walking through the gates to the sprawling county jail. Guards and officers eyed him curiously as he entered the lobby. He approached the desk a bit hesitantly, looking down for a moment.

"Can I help you?" the officer at the desk asked finally.

"Um, I'm here to visit someone," he answered.

She frowned. "What's with the bag?" she asked, pointing to Colt's backpack.

"Oh, I just came from the airport," he said.

"You'll have to leave that here. Who are you visiting?"

Colt breathed a sigh of relief; visiting hours weren't over yet, then. "Brooks," he replied. "Phillip Brooks."

"Brooks…" She bent over her computer for a moment. "Looks like he's cleared for visitors, so that shouldn't be a problem… And you are?"

"Scott Colton."

"I'll need your ID, Mr. Colton."

After handing over his driver's license and being uncomfortably frisked, Colt left his bag behind the desk and followed a guard back into the jail. He was led to the visitor's unit, a large, open room with many tables. Most were occupied by inmates visiting with their families. There were elderly parents, small children, young women, teenagers… Every demographic had a jailed family member. Colt sighed as he found a free table and sat down; the atmosphere in this room was tense indeed. Like everyone was just waiting to fall off the edge.

About ten minutes went by. Colt passed the time idly twiddling his thumbs. He tried his best not to stare at the inmates, but he couldn't help it. Some looked like an average man you could pass on the street; others were more hardened, easily identifiable as repeat offenders. He wondered if Punk's tattoos were helping him keep a low profile.

His question was answered moments later. A door at the other end of the room slid open, and Punk limped in. _Limped_? Yes, the recently dethroned champion was definitely limping. The sight of Punk in jail inmate orange was jarring- it didn't look like his best friend at all. It had only been two days- what had he gotten himself into now?

"You're really here," Punk said weakly, easing himself into the chair across the table. He was shaking, barely able to make eye contact. At a closer look, the damage was even more severe than Colt had originally thought. Punk was sporting a very obvious black eye, as well as numerous bruises and scrapes across his face and arms. He was clutching his ribs, too, and winced as he sat down.

"Of course I'm here!" Colt exclaimed. "I came as soon as I could. Dude, what the fuck happened?"

"It gets worse," Punk assured him. He unzipped his jumpsuit a little, revealing the angry red marks and bruises all over his chest and stomach. Even with is tattoos, the marks were alarmingly visible.

"Fuck…" Colt winced at the sight of his friend's injuries. "Punk, what happened to you?"

* * *

_Yard time. It was supposed to serve as recreation for the inmates, but there were far more politics involved than that. As soon as they were released onto the field, everyone quickly split into their usual groups. Some played basketball, others utilized the minimal weight benches they were provided; but by and large, the main activity was talk._

_Still being the new loner, Punk lingered near a fence at the far edge of the field. He would later learn that being so far from the nearest guard was a bad idea, but at the time he was sure isolating himself was the best option._

_While he was idly kicking away at a few rocks, he looked up to see a large group approaching him. Unsurprisingly, it was comprised of the lovely gentlemen he'd had the delight of sharing dinner with the previous night. He'd managed to avoid them that morning at breakfast, but they'd easily found him now. In addition to the four he'd traded verbal blows with, there were the three others from the table he hadn't spoken to._

"_Boys!" Punk said cheerfully. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"_

"_You're a lot more talkative today, aren't you?" the skinny man who'd first engaged him the day before growled._

"_What do you want?" Punk snapped. "What's your obsession with me?"_

"_Roy here was tellin' me earlier that you wrestling boys are all talk," the Texan answered coolly. "I wanna see if he's full of shit."_

"_It's true!" the skinny man, apparently named Roy, insisted. "The fighting's fake. They just talk, and then they throw each other around a little."_

"_Especially this guy!" the third man hollered. "This one's got a mouth on him for sure. Talks plenty of shit about anyone and everyone. Thinks he's better, too."_

"_Oh, really now?" the Texan mused."Now why's that, boy? It's because of the straight edge thing, right? No drugs, no drinking? You think you up on your high horse lookin' down on us little guys? That's what you're all about, right?"_

_Punk considered his answer carefully. Lying wasn't going to be a good idea- it looked like they knew enough about him to call him out if he did. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'm straight edge."_

"_Oh, so you do think you better than us," the Texan pressed him. "I ain't a good man in your eyes, am I, cause I like me some beers after work?"_

"_You don't have a job, Max!" the third man laughed._

"_Shut up," the Texan-Max?-snapped. He was drawing closer to Punk._

"_Look, I don't know what your problem with me is," Punk said stiffly, standing his ground. "I don't think I'm better than anybody, okay? I'm just trying to get home to my family."_

"_Yeah, that's right," Max sneered. "Your family. That pretty little wife of yours, right? She's a little young lookin', but that's all right. I like 'em young."_

"_Stop," Punk growled, instinctively clenching his fists. He knew Max was trying to rile him up, and it was working. He had already revealed that taking shots at AJ was a raw nerve for him, and Max was exploiting that weak point._

"_I ought to look that girl up when I get out," Max continued. "Bet she needs a real man after being with a little punk like you. I'll give her what she needs. I'll treat her real good, I promise."_

"_Stop," Punk repeated, with more fervor. He was standing up straighter, only inches away from Max._

"_I'll bend that bitch back over my bed and-"_

"_Shut the fuck up!" Punk yelled. "Say one more motherfucking word about my wife, and I'll-" _

"_And you'll what, huh?" Max egged him on, puffing out his chest. "What are you gonna do, huh, little boy? What?"_

"_I'll tear you apart," Punk hissed through gritted teeth._

"_Yeah?" Max asked. "So if I tell you I'm gonna fuck that little slut on the bathroom floor, you'll-"_

_Punk had had enough of this game. Before Max could finish his vile sentence, he hurled a punch right at the big, grizzled man, square to the jaw._

_It was the strike Max and his group had been waiting for. In a second they had swarmed him, delivering vicious punches and kicks to every part of tattooed wrestler they could reach. In moments, he was on the ground, desperately covering his head as thick shoes dug brutally into his back and ribs. He was only dimly aware of being rolled away some time later, watching through squinted eyelids as the gang took off. Guards came to his aid, helping him to his feet._

"_Brooks!" one of them called. "What the hell happened here? Who did this?"_

"_Nothing," Punk wheezed, knowing better than to name his attackers. "No one."_

* * *

Colt left the jail that day with a painful knot in his stomach. Two days behind bars, and Punk was already a hopeless mess. As he stood at the edge of the jail grounds, he pulled out his phone to call AJ yet again. "AJ, you need to call me back," he all but pleaded with her voicemail. "I just saw Punk. He's… he's a mess, AJ. We have to get him out of there. I don't know how, but we don't have time to wait for the account to be unfrozen. We have to get that money together, and we have to do it soon."


	13. Chapter 13

The only time AJ had gotten out of bed since the arraignment was to take care of Phillip. She felt like an awful parent, letting the TV and a box of blocks babysit him, but she was too devoid of hope to interact with him beyond his general care and keeping. It didn't help that every time she looked at him, she saw Punk's face. He really did look exactly like his father. From his mossy green eyes and unruly brown hair, to his sharp nose and crooked smile, Phillip was his father's little clone, and it was all she could do not burst into tears every time he fixed her with one of Punk's grinning expressions.

Her phone had been ringing off the hook, predictably. She received calls from everyone- Kaitlyn, Zack, Kofi, her parents, Punk's parents, Punk's sisters… and, of course, Colt. It got to the point where she simply shut her phone off, unwilling to hear her friends' and families' pleading voicemails anymore. She just wanted to be alone, to wallow in her own misery without interruption.

By mid-afternoon, Phillip had fallen asleep again. AJ was glad for the silence; before drifting off, he'd been muttering "dada" nonstop. Sighing, she covered him carefully with his blanket and made sure the baby monitor was on before shutting the door to the adjoining room. She was just curling back up with her pillows again when rapid knocking on the door startled her.

"It says 'do not disturb'," she growled, approaching the door so the maid (presumably) could hear her.

"I don't care," Colt called through the door. "Open up, AJ. Come on. I really need to talk to you."

Furious, she opened the door to face him. "You came to Texas?" she snapped. "You didn't get the hint when I didn't answer any of your 3,000 calls? Why are you here? How did you even find me, anyway?"

Colt pushed his way into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Because I thought my best friend and the girl who's been like a sister to me might need a friendly face," he answered. "And I called Zack for the address when you wouldn't answer. I had to take a cab here from the county jail." He folded his arms. "I went to see him."

"You… you saw him?" she asked, eyes widening as she stared up at him. "How was I?"

His eyes didn't meet hers for a moment. "He's bad, AJ," he answered gravely. "He's… Fuck, I don't even know how to describe it. I've never seen him more beat up, and I was with him when he fractured his skull on the indies."

"What?" she cried, her heart sinking in her chest. "What happened?"

"Seven guys he rubbed the wrong way beat the shit out of him in the yard." He bit his lip, painfully recalling the tale Punk had relayed to him. "He's got bruises and cuts everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if he's got some broken ribs, too. And he lied to the guards about what happened so he wouldn't get any backlash from the assholes who did that to him." His fists were clenched at the thought of those bastards getting away with what they'd done. "We have to get him out of there. He nearly died today because he can't stop himself from standing up when he believes he needs to. I don't know how we're going to do it, but we have to think of something… He's not going to last much longer in there."

"What are we supposed to do?" she whispered. "Our account is still frozen… I've been checking constantly but I still can't access it! How are we supposed to come up with the money, Colt?" Her voice was edging on desperation. She was ready to sell her soul to the devil at this point, if that was what it took to get him home and out of that hell.

"Well, who else have you called?" Colt asked, putting his backpack down.

"Everyone!" she groaned, throwing her hands up in the air. "They either don't have the money, or their assets aren't liquid, or they don't want to get involved…" She wrapped her arms around herself. "No one cares, Colt. None of the big guys who have the power to pull him out. Not John or Triple H or any of those pricks! They pretend they're his friend and act like they worship his talent, but really, they're just in it for themselves!"

"_Everyone_?" he pressed. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," she replied, biting her nails impulsively. "I called everyone on the active roster."

"Active roster," he said. "But what about people who aren't active?" He was deep in thought, running the retired and semi-active roster through his mind. Who did they know who hadn't blown through all their funds in retirement? Surely there must be someone. After a moment, a thought occurred to him. "What about Chris?"

"Chris?" she asked, looking back up. "Chris Jericho?"

"Yeah, Chris," he answered. "I'm sure he has the money. He's still a huge deal whenever he pops up on TV, and he's got an incredibly popular band… He's got to."

"Oh my God, I can't believe I didn't think of him! I'm so stupid, Colt!" In an act that was far more suited for Punk than her, she threw her fist into the wall in frustration. While she didn't break through the drywall, she did leave a dent. She was glad for the pain in her knuckles; it took her mind off how terribly guilty she felt.

"Calm down," Colt ordered. "Call him."

She rushed to grab her phone, rapidly turning it on to dial the wrestler-turned-rocker's number. She silently prayed for him to answer as it rang; this was their last shot. She still couldn't get over the fact that the thought of calling Chris hadn't crossed her mind. Despite their violent, high-profile rivalry, Punk and Chris were longtime friends. Punk had even bailed him out of trouble once. She was sure he would be able to come to their rescue.

"Hello?" Chris muttered tiredly.

"Oh, I'm so glad you answered!" she cried.

"AJ?" he asked, frowning. "Is that you? Is everything okay?"

"No, everything's awful," she admitted. "Chris, I… I need your help."


	14. Chapter 14

Chris was in complete shock after hearing what AJ had to say. "Jesus Christ, why didn't you call me earlier?" he demanded, but quickly remembered to calm himself. She was dealing with enough right now; she didn't need to be yelled at. "I heard about the arrest and everything, but I had no idea you weren't able to bail him out." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm not leaving him in there. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

AJ's heart was fluttering; how could she ever repay him for his kindness? He was saving her husband's life. "Oh, you don't have to come in person," she said quickly. "You can just-"

"Stop," Chris cut her off. "You guys need me, right? That's why you called."

"But…" She bit her lip. "Aren't you recording an album right now? You must be so busy with the band… I don't want to pull you away…" She already felt responsible for intruding on Colt's life, and tearing her away from his life for her and Punk's problems.

"They can deal with a delay for a few days," he assured her. "Don't worry. Do you think he'll be able to hang in there for tonight? I'm sure it'll be pretty late by the time I get in, and we won't be able to spring him until tomorrow morning."

"Oh, Chris," she whispered. "Thank you."

* * *

Punk tried his best to lay low, he really did. After the severe beating he endured before Colt's visit, he put all the energy he had left into making himself as invisible as possible. It wasn't easy- jail wasn't like prison. There were plenty of opportunities for everyone to be out of their cells and interacting. There were meal times, yard time, the showers, and the general rec time where inmates could gather at the tables in the middle of their unit.

He hated cowering like this. He hated feeling so weak, so helpless- it wasn't him. This terrified little boy wasn't him. This was the exact opposite of everything that he embodied. It made his skin crawl to act like this. Instead of standing up for himself, he was hunched over in his cell, hugging his knees and hoping they wouldn't find him. But he had no other choice. He had to stay as low-profile as possible, now, as he'd heard whispers at dinner that a few of the men who jumped him had been called in for a disciplinary hearing. He didn't know how they'd been identified- Punk certainly hadn't opened his mouth. Perhaps another inmate had blown the whistle? But regardless of the true "snitch", he knew they would come for him first.

On Thursday morning, Punk was hiding in his cell after breakfast. He'd managed to avoid the men preying on him by lingering in the food line for as long as possible, and sitting directly under the view of the security camera. But now, with rec time in full effect, he knew he would be vulnerable. He could only hope they didn't know where his cell was.

No such luck. As he lay back on his bunk (lying down was the only thing he could do; his body was incredibly sore, and experience intense pain every time he moved), the door flew open. He immediately sat up, inching back on the cardboard thin mattress. "What do you want?" he growled.

"You named me!" Max yelled, grabbing him by the collar of his jumpsuit. "You motherfucker, I got three months added to my sentence!"

"I didn't say anything!" Punk swore. "Get the fuck out of my cell, asshole."

"Just can't keep your goddamn mouth shut, can you," Roy hissed as he walked in with two other men.

"What, gonna outnumber me again?" Punk snapped, puffing up his chest. His heart was beating wildly; in truth, he was terrified. But he couldn't back down. "Real tough guys, aren't you?"

"You'll be eatin' them words in a second, boy!" Max spat. He was seething with rage; the veins in his forehead were popping. He glanced back at the last man, who stood just beyond the door. "Keep a look out!" He lifted Punk off the bunk. "You think you're such a big man, don't you, boy? Big bad wrestler, can't keep his motherfuckin' mouth shut!" Without warning, his knuckles came flying across Punk's face. Both he and Roy held Punk down, punching and kicking and brutalizing him far worse than they had the day before. He fought back as best he could, but with the other men stepping on his arms and legs, it was hopeless. When Max slammed the side of Punk's head against the sink, everything went black.

When he came to moments later, they were gone. His entire body was wracked with a severe, searing pain the likes of which he'd never felt before. Parts of his head and chest felt slightly numb, with a tingling, warm sensation; that scared him the most. How much damage had they done to him?

He tried turning over to reach his bunk; maybe lying down on something slightly more comfortable would help. But as soon as he began to move, immediately a white-hot pain shot through him. Groaning and shutting his eyes, he lay back. He wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

"Thank you again for doing this," AJ said, for what seemed like the thousandth time as they walked into the county jail. "I'll pay you back the second they unfreeze my account, I promise."

Chris just smiled at her. "I know you guys are good for it," he assured her.

Chris had arrived late the previous night, renting a car at the airport and meeting AJ and Colt at the hotel. As soon as he walked in, she broke down in tears; part of her had almost believed he wasn't really coming. But he was really here, ready to rescue. She knew that, while Colt was glad Chris was here, too, it did hurt him that he wasn't able to be the one to help his best friend.

"I'm-I'm here for my husband, Phillip Brooks," AJ told the officer at the desk nervously, clutching Phillip to her chest. "We, um, we just put up his bail at the courthouse…"

The officer nodded. "We just received the confirmation," he said. He turned back to the guard behind him. "We can retrieve inmate Brooks now."

The three of them waited nervously-except for Phillip, who was trying to pull Chris's sunglasses off the top of his head-as the officer disappeared. He returned to the front a few minutes later, dragging a shell of a man with him.

"Oh… oh my God!" AJ cried, a shock running down her spine. "What the hell happened to him?"

Punk was barely standing, leaning on officer escorting him. His skin was the palest shade AJ had ever seen. He had fresh scrapes and bruises everywhere, including a nasty wound on the side of his head. His eyes, mere slits at this point, were barely able to focus. Colt and Chris ran to grab him, just managing to hold him up before he fell.

"How could you let this happen?" AJ yelled, turning Phillip away so he wouldn't see his father in such a state. "You're supposed to protect him!" Her tone set the baby off, who quickly started to cry.

The guard simply shrugged. "He won't tell us who did this, and he's refusing medical attention," he answered. "There's nothing we can do in a situation like that."

"This isn't over," AJ promised, shaking her finger angrily at the guard. "I'm going to-"

"We need to get him to the hospital," Colt said, shifting Punk's weight so he wouldn't fall.

"He just passed out," Chris informed them.

All thoughts of revenge or lawsuits against the jail were immediately banished from her mind. "Let's go," she said quickly, adjusting the diaper bag on her shoulder. She hurried to the door, propping it open so Chris and Colt could haul Punk's limp body out the door. Her mind was numb after that. She was vaguely aware of strapping a very upset baby into his car seat, while Chris and Colt loaded her husband into the passenger seat.

They rushed to the nearest hospital, the car screeching to a halt in front of the ER. Several nurses and a doctor quickly loaded him onto a stretcher, wheeling him into the trauma bay.

"I'm sorry, you can't go in there," an orderly told AJ, stopping her as she tried to follow. For the first time, she was the one in the waiting room, praying he would open his eyes again.


	15. Chapter 15

AJ was too rattled to hold Phillip. Colt gently rocked him to sleep after feeding him as she hugged her knees, biting her lip in an attempt to fight back tears. With each minute that passed (and it had been a few hours now), she hated herself more and more. _This is all my fault, _she thought. _He wouldn't even be in this situation if it wasn't for me. He hurt Daniel to protect me. If I hadn't been such a weak little nerd and took care of myself, if I hadn't been so stupid and tried to win Daniel back and make him so obsessed with revenge… None of this ever would have happened to him._

"This is all my fault," she whispered.

"What did you say?" Colt asked, idly smoothing back Phillip's hair.

"This all my fault," she repeated, raising her head from where she'd been tucking it over her knees.

Colt glanced over at Chris before answering her; he was fairly certain he knew what AJ was talking about, and it wasn't something Chris could hear. Thankfully, the former undisputed champion was dozing off a few chairs away, exhausted from his late flight and their eventful morning.

"AJ, don't say that," Colt said finally, his voice low so he wouldn't wake Phillip.

"But it is!" she protested. "He did it for me, Colt. He did it for me, and it got him arrested, sent to jail, and beaten to hell. Now he might die, and-"

"He is _not _going to die," Colt cut her off, so sharply that it disturbed Phillip. He stirred for a moment, but did not wake. "He's gonna be fine, all right? Stop saying things like that." But he was nervous, too.

"Mrs. Brooks?" a doctor called.

AJ bolted out of her chair so fast, it turned over. The noise woke Chris, who stood up to hear the news. Colt slowly rose from his seat as well. "Is he okay?" she begged, her hands clasped together pleadingly. "Please, tell me…"

"Well, we did a few scans to assess the damage, and we had to rush him into emergency surgery," he answered gravely. "He had three broken ribs, and one of them pierced his lung and caused internal bleeding. We were able to fix the bleed, and replaced the broken ribs with metal rods. It's a good thing you got him here when you did; any longer and he may have drowned in his own blood. We also found a skull fracture. It seems to be an old wound that was reopened by blunt force trauma."

She was numb as she listened to the doctor speak. These beatings had almost killed him. "Can I see him?" she choked out.

"Of course," the doctor said with a nod. "He'll just be waking up now." He led them to the recovery unit, stopping in front of one of the many doors. "This is it. Be patient with him; he'll likely be very groggy."

AJ was the first to enter, practically tiptoeing into the room. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp as she laid eyes on him; he'd never looked so helpless, covered in bandages and with IV tubes spiraling out of his arm. His more serious cuts had stitches, while the smaller ones were simply covered.

"Punk?" she squeaked, slowly approaching his bedside.

A strangled, gravelly groan escaped him. "AJ?" he muttered weakly. He tried to sit up.

"I'm here, baby," she said, smoothing back his hair. "Just lie down. Don't push yourself."

"I feel like I… got hit by… a bus," he said. His speech was slow and garbled, like he'd lost his voice and was just now regaining it.

"Buses are kid stuff," Colt said, placing Phillip in his car seat and putting it down. He approached the bed with a small smile. "Try a semi truck."

"Semi truck?" Chris piped up, joining Colt on the other side of the bed. "I think a train."

Punk frowned at the sight of the rock-and-roller. "Chris? What are you… doing here?"

"Well, shit," he answered dramatically. "If you don't want me here, I can just get out of here…" But he was smiling.

"He bailed you out," AJ told him, squeezing his hand gently.

"You… you did?" He took a deep, painful breath; even breathing hurt. "Why?"

"Remember the time I got a DUI, and you bailed my dumb ass out at four in the morning, even though you were furious at me for being such a drunken idiot?" Chris asked. "That's why."

Punk managed a smile, however small. "I think you… may have saved… my life," he said. "How can I… ever thank you… for this?"

"Call up that lawyer of yours and make sure you get a not guilty verdict, eh?" Chris said with a smirk. "I'm not about to plan a prison break out."

Throughout the conversation, Colt was carefully studying AJ. She looked like she was going to fall apart at the seams. "Why don't we get the little guy back to the hotel," he suggested to Chris. "Give these two some alone time."

Chris nodded in agreement. "Probably better he doesn't see his dad like this, anyway," he said. "But what should we do with him?"

"Let's take him to the pool," Colt said. "Come on, it'll be fun. We'll be like one of those two men and baby sitcoms. Don't worry, absolutely no one will think we're gay." He winked exaggeratedly at Chris before smiling at Punk and AJ. "We'll catch up with you guys later." Grabbing the car seat, he and Chris left the room.

As soon as they were alone, AJ broke. She sobbed against his shoulder, holding onto him gingerly as she cried. She had tried to be strong for him, but she couldn't help it. After hours of numbness, she just had to let it all go.

"Hey, easy, you're… soaking my… bandages," he teased. He tried to move his non-IV arm to embrace her, but it was immobilized with pain. "Come on. I'm okay. I didn't… die, see?"

"I was so scared," she whispered. "I thought I was never going to see you again."

"Well, that's not… going to happen," he said. "I'm here, and… I'm not going… anywhere."

"Please never leave me again," she pleaded, kissing his stubble-covered cheek. "I can't be without you again, baby. I can't do it. Phillip can't do it."

"I will do everything… in my power… to make sure I… never have to… leave you two again," he said firmly, fighting the pain to move his arm around her. It was hard, and the effort left him out of breath for a moment, but he managed it. After a momentary embrace, she moved back from him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, moving a few strands of hair from in front of his face.

"I thought we… went over that," he answered. "Bus."

"That's not what I meant," she clarified. "I mean… otherwise."

His eyes were glassy as they fixed on hers. "I thought I was… going to die," he muttered. "I thought they were… going to kill me, and… that I would never… see you again... Never kiss you again… Never hold Phillip again…" His voice was breaking.

"Baby…" she whispered, squeezing his hand.

"I don't want to go, AJ. I don't want… to go." He leaned his head against hers. She knew what he meant- he was talking about prison. "I can't go back. I'll die if I… go back."

"You won't," she promised. "You won't have to go back. I'll make sure of it." She didn't know what she was basing this promise off of; Paxton had yet to get back to her with a trial strategy, and she had no idea what other evidence Jameson may have collected to use against them. Everything was up in the air right now. She had no way of knowing whether or not her husband would wind up behind bars again. She could only put her faith in their lawyer, and hope he knew what the hell he was doing.


	16. Chapter 16

Punk wasn't awake for long. He drifted back into unconsciousness shortly after reuniting with AJ, utterly exhausted after the day's ordeal. Although she wanted to spend more time with him, she was glad he was able to rest. He was (as she expected) refusing pain medication, and sleep was the only way he would be able to escape the crippling agony until everything healed. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she silently slipped out of the room to place a phone call to their lawyer.

"He's out," she told him. "A friend put up his bail this morning."

"Good," Paxton said, clearly relieved. "How's he holding up?"

"Awful," she confessed after a moment's pause. "They tore him apart in there. He was jumped and beaten twice in just a few days. We had to rush him to the hospital, and he got out of emergency surgery just a little while ago." She shuddered; recounting the tale was still unsettling.

"_What_?" Paxton shouted, so loudly that AJ had to pull the phone away from her ear. "And the guards did nothing to stop him from being attacked? This is insane!" His voice was full of rage. "I'm going after that county. Their corrections officers, the facility, everything."

"Paxton, please, no," she said quickly. "Don't worry about it."

"But this is an outrage!" he protested. "They can't just-"

"I want you to focus on Punk's trial first," she cut him off. "After you make sure he's not going to prison, you can go on whatever rampage against the state of Texas or this stupid county to your heart's content, okay?" She took a deep breath, surprised that she was the one to be counseling Paxton for restraint, instead of the other way around.

"You're right," he relented. "We need to keep our eyes on our goal- keeping your husband a free man." He paused for a moment. "When do you think you'll be home?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "The doctor said it all depends on how fast he recovers. He might be released in as soon as a few days, or it might take two weeks."

The attorney sighed. "I had a feeling you would say something like that," he said. "Well, keep me updated on his progress, all right? I'll meet you in Chicago as soon as you're home. We have a lot to go over before the trial begins, and I have a lot of people to interview."

* * *

Later that evening, Chris stopped by the hospital. Punk was asleep again, passed out after AJ forced him to choke down half a tray of hospital food. He didn't want to eat, claiming the runny consistency of hospital-issue meals reminded him of what he was served in jail, but she was adamant that he needed it to regain his strength. So he ate to placate her, knocking out shortly before Chris arrived. The rocker crept into the room slowly, tiptoeing as not to wake his battered friend.

"Don't worry," AJ told him, rising from her chair to greet him. "He's usually a light sleeper, but today he's been sleeping like a rock. You won't wake him."

Chris smiled. "That's good," he said. "He needs some rest. How has he been?"

"He's in a lot of pain," she admitted, folding her arms apprehensively. "He won't take any pain medication, of course. When he's awake, everything hurts- even breathing."

"He's as headstrong as he is tough," he muttered with a sigh, glancing at Punk's sleeping form. "You little bastard, you."

"How was Phillip?" she asked, hoping to steer the conversation toward something more positive.

"Good," he answered. "He's a good kid. We actually did go to the pool. He had a great time. Colt was putting him to bed when I left."

A relieved smile spread across her face; at least her son was at ease, even if nothing else in her life was right now. "I don't know how I'll ever thank you for what you've done today," she said. "Punk might… not be with us anymore if you hadn't bailed him out." Her lower lip began to quiver at the thought of losing her husband forever.

He just waved his hand. "Don't worry about it," he said. "There was no way I was going to leave him in there." He looked over at Punk again, his brows narrowing. He watched for a moment as the tattooed superstar's bandaged chest rose and fell. "Listen, I've got to get going. I have a flight back home soon. I don't mean to abandon you guys so quickly, but I have some shows I can't duck out on."

"Oh, Chris, you're not abandoning us," she assured him, her heart swelling with gratitude for him. "You've done more than your fair share today for us. Really. You saved his life. I know you have other engagements. Go."

"When you know when the trial starts, give me a call," he added. "I want to be there."

"Really?" she whispered.

"Of course," he replied with a sly smirk. "I have to see my investment through till the end, don't I?" He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. "Get him back to good health, AJ. I want to see this motherfucker with a belt around his waist again someday."

* * *

The next week passed agonizingly slowly. For the first couple of days, Punk drifted in and out of consciousness at irregular intervals. Sometimes, he was lucid enough to hold a conversation with AJ; other times, the pain left him too distressed to even speak. But he gradually began to heal, spending more and more time awake as time passed. Eventually, she didn't need to force feed him anymore, and by his fourth day post-surgery, he was able to feed himself.

Colt was a godsend throughout Punk's hospital recovery. He cancelled his indy bookings to stay in Texas with the Brooks family, watching Phillip during the day while AJ tended to Punk. She only saw her son during Colt's brief visits to the hospital (Phillip couldn't stay for long; he tended to get upset fairly quickly, as Punk couldn't play and roughhouse with him as he usually did), and when AJ slipped away to shower or grab at nap at the hotel. At first, she felt guilty for neglecting the bouncing little boy; but Colt assured her that Punk needed her more right now, and that Phillip was in good hands.

A full week after the surgery, Punk was cleared to go home. He was still incredibly sore and looked like a wreck, but his doctors agreed there was nothing more to be done for him in their care. He would do better to continue his recovery at home, where he was to begin working with a physical therapist.

"God damn it," Punk muttered, wincing as AJ helped ease him out of his hospital gown. He glanced down at his side, where a long, twisted scar ran down his ribcage. "This thing looks insane." He groaned again as he raised his arms, biting his lip to distract himself from the pain as AJ pulled a clean white T-shirt over his head.

"I think it's sexy," AJ commented, pulling him to the edge of the bed so she could help him step into a pair of shorts. His legs shook, threatening to give, but they managed to get him dressed. "Makes you look more… rugged." As if he didn't already.

Punk just shook his head. "I'm tattooing over it," he said, holding tightly to AJ as she led him to the wheelchair a nurse had provided. "As soon as I can."

She pouted exaggeratedly. "You're no fun," she muttered, grabbing her purse. She wheeled him out of the room and to the lobby, where Colt waited with Phillip.

"Dada!" Phillip cried happily, leaning away from Colt and reaching for Punk.

"Not yet, sweetie," AJ told him sadly, shaking his head. "Daddy can't-"

But Punk was reaching for him, too. "Give me my son," he said.

"Are you sure?" Colt asked uncertainly. "You're still pretty tender, and you know as well as anyone that this kid packs a wallop."

"Positive," Punk answered firmly. Colt nodded and deposited the baby in his friend's lap. Punk held him to his chest. Phillip relaxed in his grip, laying his head sleepily on his father's shoulder. They were still for a moment, both silent.

"Baby?" AJ said finally, breaking the silence. "Are you okay?"

He tilted his head up to look at her, revealing the tears that had formed in his eyes. "I'm great," he replied, blinking the tears away as he rubbed Phillip's back. "I'm great."


	17. Chapter 17

"Okay," Paxton said, setting his briefcase down. "Let's get started."

The attorney was sitting at the Brooks' kitchen table, across from Punk and AJ. Phillip was sitting in his high chair a few feet away, happily feeding himself Cheerios. While Paxton wasn't uncomfortable (practicing law in New York and New Jersey for so many years gave him quite a high threshold), this was definitely unorthodox- he could count on one hand the number of clients he'd met with in their homes. But then, this entire situation was outside the norm. His office was several states away, and only two short weeks removed from a serious operation, Punk was in no condition to be dragged across time zones for meetings with legal counsel.

"Okay, so what happens now?" Punk asked. The former champion, although healing well, still looked like a train wreck. His facial bruises, while beginning to fade, were still glaringly obvious around his eyes and nose. His torso was a mess of angry red and black-and-blue marks, some in the shape of boot prints. It was an unsettling sight.

"Well, first I'll fill you in on what's going on," Paxton replied. "The phase we're in is called discovery. It's the information-collecting phase. The ADA is going to be building her case against you, while we build your defense. At the end of discovery, we exchange information."

"What?" AJ asked with a frown. "So we have to give them everything we have? That doesn't seem fair."

"It's procedure," Paxton explained. "But don't worry. Just because we have to give the other side any pictures, documents, names of witnesses, and such, doesn't mean she gets to know how we're going to be using them."

Punk nodded. "All right," he said. "So what do you need from me?"

"We can start off with witnesses." Paxton pulled a legal pad and a pen out of his briefcase. "I'll need a few people-aside from your wife, who I already had in mind-who can attest to your character as an upstanding member of society. I've heard you're not very close with your biological family, so I realize most of these people will be friends."

"That's easy," Punk said. "There's Colt-"

"Real names," Paxton added. "I can't give wrestling aliases to the ADA."

"Right." He nodded. "There's Scott Colton… Zack Ryder, his name is Matt Cardona… And Kofi, uh… You know what, let me just write his last name down for you. It's pretty long." He grabbed the pad and pen from his lawyer, scribbling down his longtime friend's African-rooted last name.

"Don't forget Kaitlyn," AJ reminded him. "So they know you're not a chauvinist."

"What's her real name again?" Punk asked. AJ just rolled her eyes at him, snatching the pad and pen away to add her best friend's name to the list. When she was done, she handed the pad back to Paxton.

"What I'll be getting from these guys is testimony to tear down what the ADA is going to say," Paxton told them. "She's going to paint you as a violent, evil bastard whose sole mission in life was to kill his wife's ex-boyfriend. Your friends are going to refute that." He paused for a moment, studying the couple carefully. "Now, she's definitely going to drag your pasts into this, so I have to know: how much of that paternity scandal that was on TV was real?"

Punk sighed; AJ looked away, embarrassed. "Most of it," Punk answered, squeezing her hand supportively. "It's… pretty complicated."

"Explain," Paxton ordered. "All of it."

"She was still sleeping with Bryan after they broke up," he said. "We got together right after they stopped, so when she found out she was pregnant… We didn't know who the baby belonged to."

"And what about what you accused him of?" Paxton continued. "After the injury?"

"That was 100% real," Punk said. "When AJ was a few months pregnant, he messed up a move and launched himself over the ropes into her. He nearly caused her to miscarry. And when we got married, he crashed the wedding and tried to rape her." He found himself squeezing AJ's hand even harder- the memory of what Daniel had tried to inflict upon his wife still stung sometimes. "There's proof of all of that. Her medical records, the paternity test, his arrest at my house…"

Paxton was silent for a moment, tapping his pen against the table. "This… is tricky," he said finally. "This is very, very tricky."

"How?" AJ asked impatiently. "What do you mean?"

"On one hand, what you've told me can be proof that it's Danielson who is the violent madman, not you," Paxton explained. "But on the other hand… It almost makes the ADA's case for her. It's circumstantial, but she may very well center her case around you trying to get revenge on him for everything he did to AJ."

Punk's heart sank- he'd been afraid of this. With their dirty laundry aired on national television, one could easily put the pieces together. Whether or not his true motive was apparent-protecting his family versus revenge-didn't matter. The jury would believe what they wanted to believe.

"Then… what do we do?" AJ asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands were shaking. "You have a plan for this, right? You said you would get him out of this!"

"I said I would try my best," Paxton corrected, "and I do have a plan. I need wrestling experts. I need people who can tell the jury that you didn't do this on purpose. They need to be able to tell me that Danielson's injury can, and was, caused by an accident."

He sighed. Punk had experts, all right- but two of the most well-versed experts he knew refused to go to bat for him. Triple H and his father-in-law had planted their stance firmly in the neutral zone, leaving their (former) champ to fend for himself. But there were others. Surely there had to be.

* * *

"This is hopeless," Punk muttered as they lay in bed that night. Paxton had only left a short time ago, after hours of prepping, naming witnesses, and going over possible testimony. The entire meeting had left him more than disheartened. After the lawyer had departed they were largely silent, putting Phillip to bed, brooding separately about what they now knew.

"Baby, don't say that," AJ said, rolling over to face him. She wasn't sure where she stood on their chances, either, but she was too scared of the possibilities to voice her insecurities. She propped herself up on her elbow, using her free hand to gently stroke his uninjured cheek. "We can do this. You know Paul will testify for you- he loves you. And he's good friends with Michael Hayes, too, isn't he? He'll get Michael to testify. They're two of the most experienced men left in this business."

He just sighed, leaning into her soothing touch. "I wish I had as much faith as you do," he whispered, covering her hand with his own. "Everything's going to be okay, right?" His hand was shuddering a little, and that frightened him even more- normally, he was the one reassuring her. He was never the one who needed to be told the world would still be there when he woke up in the morning.

"Punk-" she began.

"Just tell me it's going to be okay," he begged, his clear green eyes a silent plea in their own right.

"Everything's going to be okay," she told him quietly, looking down at the space between them. She hoped it wasn't a lie.


	18. Chapter 18

"Why are you doing this?" Daniel demanded angrily.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Jameson answered innocently.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," Daniel shot back. "Why are you going after Punk?"

The executive sighed. "Bryan, you know why," he said impatiently. "Surely you have to know by now. I told you I would make it up to you, and this is my way of fulfilling that promise."

"Alan, that was over three years ago!" Daniel exclaimed. "I'm over it. I've been over it for a long time! Do you really think this is what I want? You didn't even ask! Look, Punk's an asshole. Everyone knows that. But he… he's got a family." He thought of AJ's angelic, beautiful face- the one he caused so much pain to come across, and all for his selfish purposes. He thought of sweet little Phillip, the baby boy who had very nearly been his. The baby he'd nearly killed. "He doesn't deserve this."

"Kind of like how _you _didn't deserve what _he _did?" Jameson questioned.

"I…" He paused, suddenly deeply ashamed. "You don't understand, Alan. I… I deserved what happened to me. I was doing bad things to people who didn't deserve them, and I got what…" He swallowed hard. This was difficult to admit. "I got what was coming to me! So just drop it, okay?"

"I can't," Jameson informed him, almost sadly. "It's out of my hands now. I set the ball in motion with the law, and it's their show now. What ultimately happens to him is entirely up to a jury."

"God damn it, why didn't you talk to me first?" Daniel cried. "You're ruining a man's life!"

"Well, it's too late," Jameson snapped. "You're just going to have to accept what I've done for you."

Before Daniel could fire back a retort, the Mattel board member hung up. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tossed his phone as far as he could. _I'm sorry, Punk, _he thought. _I'm so sorry._

* * *

The next few months were the most nerve-wracking of Punk's life.

Neither he nor AJ were prepared for how long all of the pre-trial nonsense would take. He tried to throw himself into his recovery, pushing himself constantly at physical therapy. When he wasn't doing his exercises, he spent time with his family- playing video games and watching old movies with AJ, stacking blocks and throwing stuffed animals around with Phillip.

But it wasn't long before he grew restless. He'd never had so much time off before- not even after his elbow injury several years back. He'd thrown himself into commentary, forcing the company to use him whether they liked it or not. But this time, commentating wasn't an option. The WWE wanted nothing to do with him, or AJ; he was surprised their contracts hadn't been terminated yet. He enjoyed having so much leisure time with which to relax with the two people he loved most, but with the reason why they were all home ever-present in the back of his mind, he couldn't enjoy it to the fullest.

Not being able to travel at all didn't help. Their friends visited as frequently as they could, with Colt's much lighter schedule allowing him to be the most frequent companion. But even with their 'pity visits' (as Punk called them), he was on edge. The impending trial was constantly hanging over him, threatening to send him tumbling off a cliff and into the hell of prison.

"Look on the bright side," AJ told him one afternoon, setting a plate in front of the high chair bound Phillip. Their little fighter was nearly a year old now. He smiled giddily at his parents before stuffing a bit of sliced fruit into his mouth. "You're almost healed."

"I shouldn't even have to have healed," Punk muttered back, automatically running his index finger down his long scar. In truth, he was surprised she had been so tolerant of his moods lately. She certainly didn't deserve his occasional coldness. He supposed she accepted his surliness because she knew what was looming in the back of his mind. But her leniency didn't stop him from regretting the way he was treating her, even if he didn't mean to.

AJ merely sighed, reaching over to stroke his cheek. She looked down for a moment, collecting her thoughts. What could she possibly say to him to get a positive response? "Phillip's birthday is next month," she reminded him suddenly. "I know how much you've been looking forward to seeing him open his presents. He was too young at Christmas."

"Will I even be here for it?" he asked with a sigh. He glanced over at his 11-month old, who gave him a toothy smile. "What if I'm in-"

"Stop it," AJ scolded, before he could finish. "You need to stop talking like this. You're driving me crazy, Punk! You were acting like this months ago before you were arrested. It wasn't fair to me and Phillip then, and it isn't fair to us now! I know what you're going through, but you can't-"

"No, AJ, you don't know what I'm going through!" he snapped, standing up so quickly his chair nearly fell over. "You've never been arrested! You've never been humiliated and dehumanized in front of everyone you work with! You've never been strip-searched! You've never been held down and stomped, kicked, punched, and beaten senseless by six different guys! You have no idea what I'm going through, and you don't know what it's like to be this scared!" He stormed out of the kitchen, and she winced as she heard the front door slam behind him.

"Daddy?" Phillip whispered a moment later, breaking the tense, uncomfortable silence that had filled the room. "Daddy go?"

"Daddy's fine, sweetie," AJ assured him, wiping tears from her cheeks. "He'll be back soon." She picked up his overturned sip cup, placing it on the tray of his high chair.

"Mommy?" he asked, grabbing for the cup tentatively.

"Mommy's fine, too." She turned to busy herself with cleaning the kitchen, trying to ignore the creeping sadness that was rapidly taking over her.

* * *

A few hours later, AJ lay back on the couch. Phillip was asleep on her chest, his head tucked under her chin. She smoothed back his hair passively, letting the dark brown wisps curl around her fingers. _Just like your daddy, _she thought, kissing the top of his head gently. She allowed herself to wonder, as she had many times since he walked out, where Punk had gone off to. Although she hadn't even made an attempt to call him (his outburst left her quite frightened), she was worried. He hadn't been away from her for this long since jail.

As if on cue, Punk came through the door. His forehead was sticky with sweat, his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Had he been jogging for hours? "I just got a call," he began. Stripping off his shirt, he tossed it over the edge of the couch and sank down into the lounge chair across from her. "It was Paxton."

She struggled to sit up, still clutching Phillip against her so he wouldn't wake. "What did he say?" she asked nervously. All thoughts of chewing him out for his outburst were banished from her mind.

"He told me jury selection starts on Monday," he answered.

"Monday," she repeated. "So we should fly out the day after tomorrow, then. On Sunday."

He nodded. "He said after the jury selection, the trial will start."

She took a deep breath. "So this is it," she said, rubbing Phillip's back in slow, rhythmic circles.

"You scared?"

At this, she actually found herself chuckling. Was he really asking her if she was scared? "Of course I am, baby. I'm terrified of what might happen." She sighed, a sudden shiver coming over her. "I just want to hide in our room and watch the old Spiderman cartoon."

He offered her a small smile. "We can do that tonight if you want," he said. She could tell he was trying to make up for his unjustified anger from earlier.

But she wasn't having it. "I think I'm just going to go to bed after I put Phillip down." She stood up, readjusting the baby in her arms as he awoke. "Come on, sweet boy. Let's get you into the bathtub." She left the living room and headed upstairs, leaving Punk alone with his thoughts.

_This is tearing us apart, _he thought, watching her disappear up the stairs.


	19. Chapter 19

The next few days were a whirlwind. The morning following Paxton's call, AJ and Punk went out to get court-appropriate clothing. Punk only owned one suit (that barely fit), and he wore it once a year at the Hall of Fame ceremony. AJ had a few items that would partially fit the bill, but all of it was far too revealing for the trial. She purchased several modest skirts and tops that made her feel like a mild-mannered college student, while he was fitted for some new suits.

At home, they fought over whether or not to leave Phillip in Chicago with Punk's sisters. AJ wanted to leave him at home- "A court room is no place for a baby," she argued. He would likely be hopelessly bored throughout the trial, and keeping him quiet while he was restless would be no easy task. She didn't want to subject him to that, nor the heavy media presence that would undoubtedly be devouring the trial like the vultures they were.

But Punk was adamant. "I want him with me," he insisted. "I don't know how fast or slow this trial will go. What if I never come home?" He shook his head. "He has to come with us. I'm not saying we'd bring him to court- he can stay at whatever hotel we book. Colt will watch him until we get out."

"All right," she relented- he had a point. He should get in as much time with their son as possible. "But we can't just keep dragging Colt around to follow us when we need him, Punk. He has a life, too. Why don't we just leave him at my parents' house? They would be more than willing to watch him. We could probably stay there, too."

"We're not dragging Colt anywhere," Punk said. "He offered. He _wants _to do this for us. Besides, there's no way I'm staying at your parents' or leaving Phillip there. They hate me, remember?"

She sighed. "They don't hate you, baby. They just-"

"Don't hate me?" He laughed incredulously. "Your mom's been calling you three or four times a week for the past three months trying to convince you to divorce me and take all of our money before it's too late. And what did your dad say to me after I got home? That I'm a horrible husband and father, I don't deserve either of you, I'm ruining your life, at least with Bryan you didn't get knocked up out of wedlock, and I deserve to go to prison like the scum I am?"

"Okay, so they've been a little harsh lately," she acknowledged. She had to agree, her patience with her parents was wearing thin these days.

He just shook his head. "I don't need to deal with them right now," he said. "I'm having a hard enough time with everything going on without them telling me how terribly I treat their daughter."

"Fine," she muttered. "I guess we don't have a choice."

They spent the rest of the day packing. They didn't know how long they would be in New Jersey, so they brought enough clothing for themselves and Phillip to last a week. Neither of them slept well that night, and in the morning they picked up Colt on the way to the airport.

"Sorry to derail your life again," AJ apologized as the tired independent wrestler climbed into the backseat next to Phillip.

Colt merely shrugged. "It's no problem," he said. "What the hell else am I gonna do, anyway? I won't be able to focus on the podcast or bookings or anything like that with the trial on TV in the background." He squeezed her shoulder and slapped Punk on the back. "I'm right where I need to be."

* * *

"Calm down," Paxton ordered. "It's just jury selection."

"I can't help it," Punk muttered, fidgeting with his tie yet again. His suit was constricting and uncomfortable. He felt as though he were wearing someone else's skin. The reporters and camera men in the back of the court room didn't help- they were watching his every move, like hawks. He couldn't help but see the irony in being so unnerved by cameras and microphones, when he'd been in bigger spotlights for the past nearly eight years.

Paxton slapped his hand away. "Stop it. They're watching you. Opinion matters now."

"Sorry." He glanced back at AJ, who sat right behind the barrier separating the front of the court room from the spectator benches. She squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, offering him her best smile.

"Everything's going to be okay," she assured him, kissing his forehead.

When the door opened, both Punk and AJ looked back to lay eyes on the assistant district attorney for the first time. She was a pale, thin-lipped blonde, but something about her narrow, cold blue eyes told Punk she was not one to be underestimated. She slapped her briefcase onto her table with a threatening slam, turning her attention to the small group huddled at the defense table. The sound sent an involuntary shiver up his spine.

"Jason Paxton," she said coolly, crossing the room to extend a hand.

"Lisa Meyers," Paxton replied, with just as much ice in his voice. He rose to accept her hand, shaking it firmly. "Always a pleasure."

Meyers looked down at Punk, who was still seated. "Is this your client?" she asked.

Paxton rolled his eyes. "You know this is my client," he said.

She stuck her hand out to him; Punk denied it but remaining in his chair. "Forgive me if I'm not feeling very… social," he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

Meyers merely smiled. "Good luck, Paxton," she said as she turned to return to her table. "I think you're going to need it."

* * *

The jury selection process went by more quickly than Punk thought it would. He sat in silence as men and women paraded in and out of the witness stand, answering a list of standard questions. As Paxton explained, both he and the ADA had three strikes each to remove a potential juror from the pool. Punk quickly realized Meyers' reasoning as to why her chosen jurors were struck down- they had visible tattoos. He supposed she thought they might sympathize with him.

Paxton used two of his strikes- one on an old woman who looked like she belonged in a nursing home, and another on a stiff-looking gentleman in a business suit. By the end of the business day, they were left with 12 jurors and 3 alternates. The judge (a steely, time-hardened middle-aged man) adjourned them for the day, with opening arguments to begin at 9 AM the following morning.

"All right," Paxton said as everyone rose to leave the court room. "We're going to go out the back to avoid the press, okay? I don't need you flying off the handle because some jackass reporter asked you a stupid question.

"I'm glad you have so much faith in me," Punk muttered as AJ grabbed his hand, taking the lead as they began weaving their way out of the room. Paxton led them through a back corridor, out to custodial service entrance. Luckily, it was deserted. This move gave Punk a little more hope that Paxton knew what he was doing; he'd gone through this route before, clearly.

"Thank you," AJ told the lawyer as they reached the car, also parked in the back.

Paxton smiled thinly. "Don't thank me just yet," he said. "Go spend time with your little boy. I'll see you both tomorrow morning. Rest up if you can."

They drove back to the hotel as fast as the rush-hour traffic would allow, wanting to reunite with Phillip and spring Colt from babysitting duty. "How was it?" Colt asked as they walked into the room. "They played on TV, but Phillip started freaking out because he saw you guys on the screen, so I turned it off. He's sleeping now, by the way." He nodded back to the adjoining room.

"As well as it could, I guess," Punk answered, nearly ripping his tie in an attempt to free his neck. "I couldn't read any of them. I'm usually a good judge of character, but… I couldn't even think today."

"I don't blame you," Colt said. "Your brain's completely fucked right now." He stood up, smiling down at Phillip before hugging AJ. "I'm gonna work out for 2 hours and pretend this entire thing isn't happening. I'll catch you guys in the morning." He bumped fists with Punk before leaving the family alone.

"So," AJ said awkwardly, after having changed into comfortable clothes. She twisted a lock of hair around her index finger nervously; she wasn't quite sure how to handle her husband anymore.

Punk glanced at her as he removed his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt. "Yeah?" he asked. He took off his belt and pants, draping everything over a chair and pulling on shorts. "What's up?"

She sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Nothing," she muttered. "Never mind."


	20. Chapter 20

"How many of you watch wrestling?" Meyers asked, crossing the room to stand in front of the jury. She paused for dramatic effect before smiling. "That's okay. Neither do I. But you don't necessarily need to be a fan of this brutish 'sport' to know this man." She gestured to Punk, who sat up straight at the defense table. "Do any of you recognize him? His name is Phillip Brooks. No? Maybe you know him by a different name- CM Punk." She paused again to let that sink in. "CM Punk is a character that Mr. Brooks portrays on television, where every week he partakes in largely staged, albeit still physically demanding fights with other members of World Wrestling Entertainment. But on the night of April 7th, 2013, something happened that was _not _staged."

Punk felt his heart begin to pound. He knew this was where the cutthroat ADA would lay her groundwork, beginning to paint her picture of the evil CM Punk she wanted the jury to see. Sensing his tension, AJ reached over the barrier to squeeze his shoulder supportively.

"On that night," Meyers continued, "during the WWE's biggest event of the year, Mr. Brooks had a match against another wrestler, a man named Bryan Danielson. He's also known by his wrestling name, Daniel Bryan. It should have been a normal, entertaining match… But it wasn't. Mr. Brooks had another plan… A devastating one. Before the end of their match, Mr. Brooks purposely and deliberately slammed Bryan Danielson's neck into his knee, for one reason, and one reason only- to kill him. Thankfully, Mr. Danielson survived… barely. He's in a wheelchair now, thanks to Mr. Brooks' actions. He modified his wrestling move to inflict real, deadly damage. And that, ladies and gentlemen, isn't an accident. It's attempted murder. Phillip Brooks wanted revenge on Bryan Danielson… the man who also happens to be his wife's, April Brooks, ex-boyfriend. And he took his revenge the only way a man like him knows how: through violence."

Punk bit his lip as he watched the ADA return to her seat- that woman really knew how to create dramatic tension. He studied the faces of the jury; many of them were leaning forward, interested. _Fuck. _He glanced back at AJ, who wore a similar expression. They both turned back to watch as Paxton rose, straightening his jacket as he stood.

"Nice story," Paxton commented as he made his way over to the jury. "Ms. Meyers is very creative with words. And she got most of it right, too. My client, Phillip Brooks, is known as CM Punk when he wrestles for World Wrestling Entertainment. At the 29th installment of their version of the Super Bowl, Wrestlemania, Mr. Brooks wrestled Bryan Danielson, also known as Daniel Bryan, for the WWE's highest championship title. During that match, something went horribly wrong, and Mr. Danielson was paralyzed." He folded his arms, scanning the jury carefully. "Now here's the part where she messed up a little. Yes, Phillip Brooks hurt Bryan Danielson… but he didn't do it on purpose. Accidents happen in the sporting world, especially in a sport where the goal is to make your opponent look as injured as possible without actually doing any damage. Mr. Brooks' finishing move, the one that resulted in Mr. Danielson's injury, is a perfectly legal, sanctioned action within the WWE. Unfortunately, this move, like all wrestling moves, carries with it an inherent risk if it isn't performed perfectly. And after half an hour of pushing himself to his physical limit, he slipped. That's all, ladies and gentlemen. There was no attempted murder. This was merely a tragic accident that could not have been prevented."

Paxton returned to his seat, casting a glance at the two of them. AJ looked smaller than ever, huddled against the barrier in an attempt to be as close to Punk as possible. It looked like she was trying her best to comfort him, but he appeared resistant, sitting stiffly and staring straight ahead. They were being so strongly affected already, and they were barely past opening arguments. How would they handle being put on the stand?

"All right, Ms. Meyers, you can call your first witness," the judge said, yanking both Paxton and the wrestling couple out of their thoughts.

Meyers' first witness (typically) was Alan Jameson. Punk watched with narrowed eyes as the executive took the stand, raising his right hand as he was sworn in. After stating his name and address for the record, Meyers launched into a standard question.

"Mr. Jameson, what is your occupation?" she asked.

He leaned into the microphone to speak. "I'm the vice president of production and advertising at Mattel Toys," he answered. "I'm also a member of the board of directors."

"And what is your relationship to Mr. Brooks?"

"We don't really have a 'relationship', per se," Jameson replied. "My company is a sponsoring partner of his employer. We produce action figures and other products in the likeness of their talent roster. Part of my job entails keeping an eye on talent activities to ensure that the right people are representing our company and our products. Being the champion for a number of months, Mr. Brooks was supposed to be our front man."

Meyers then nodded to the bailiff, who wheeled over a projector and drop-down screen to face the jury. "Your Honor, I'm introducing prosecution exhibit A," she announced as the bailiff set up the equipment. A frozen image of Punk and Daniel in the ring appeared on the screen. "Mr. Jameson, tell me about this video. How did you come upon this?"

"Well, as I said, part of my job is to pay attention to the talent," Jameson explained. "After the incident at Wrestlemania 29, something about it just didn't feel right. So I obtained the footage of their match, which is displayed here in this video. After reviewing it many times, I stumbled upon a shocking upset."

"Let's watch," Meyers suggested. She played the video. The whole court room watched as Punk lifted Daniel into the fireman's carry, preparing to deliver the GTS.

"Right here," Jameson said. The video paused and zoomed in, eliminating most of the background to focus on the two wrestlers. Punk instinctively gripped his knees as he watched, gritting his teeth as he relived that terrible night. "See? There. Mr. Brooks moves Danielson forward to bring his neck down onto his knee, instead of glancing off the forehead."

A collective gasp was emitted from the jury. "That looks like Mr. Brooks modified his move purposely," Meyers said. She looked at the judge. "No further questions."

Paxton rose for his cross-examination, silently willing Punk to stop looking so upset and nervous. "Mr. Jameson, have you ever wrestled before?" he asked.

Jameson blinked, unprepared for this question. "Uh, no," he answered.

"Have you ever had any sort of wrestling training?" Paxton was right in front of the witness stand.

"No, I haven't," Jameson answered with a shake of his head.

"So you really have no idea what you're talking about when it comes to wrestling, then," Paxton said.

Jameson bristled. "Mattel and the WWE have been partnered for a number of years," he said. "I've been around wrestling for a long time. I know-"

"You've been _around _wrestling," Paxton repeated. "But you haven't ever trained for wrestling, participated in wrestling, written for wrestling, or ran a wrestling company, have you?"

"No," Jameson admitted. He was sweating a little.

"So if you have zero wrestling experience, how could you possibly have the knowledge to interpret complex wrestling moves and assign blame like this?"

"You don't have to be a wrestling expert to see it as clear as day!" Jameson protested.

"Why do you have a vendetta against my client, Mr. Jameson?" Paxton asked. "What made you bring this contrived 'evidence' of yours to the police?"

"I don't have a vendetta," Jameson snapped. "I was doing my job. My company sells toys to children, Mr. Paxton. We can't have the face of our brand going around doing whatever he wants, including trying to murder his wife's ex-boyfriend for revenge!"

Paxton bit his lip. "Nothing further," he said.

* * *

After Jameson's testimony, there was a recess for lunch. Punk spent almost the entire hour locked in the bathroom, leaving Paxton and AJ to share an awkward meal of vending machine snacks.

"She's putting Daniel's doctor on the stand next," Paxton told her as he crumpled up his Oreos wrapper and tossed it in the trash can behind them. "Clever lady."

AJ frowned. "How is that clever?" she asked, carefully placing another chip in her mouth. She wasn't very hungry, but she forced herself to choke it down. The testimony so far had left her weary.

"By having him testify last today, she's leaving the jury with a lasting image," he explained. "They're going to go home thinking about how bad the injury was, and it's the first thing they'll be thinking about when they get here tomorrow morning."

"What a bitch," Punk piped up from behind them. They both turned around; he looked far more rattled than he had this morning. Beads of sweat stuck to his forehead, and his hair stuck out at odd angles.

"Oh, baby," AJ said sympathetically, hurrying over to him. She dabbed at his forehead with a napkin, smoothing back his hair to make it look presentable. "Are you okay?"

Punk just shrugged. "Aside from throwing up everything I ate last night and this morning?" he asked. "Not too bad, I guess."

She sighed, stroking his cheek. "We'll get something easy to eat later," she assured him.

Paxton glanced down at his watch. "Lunch is up," he said. "Let's get back in there."

* * *

Paxton had been entirely correct. As the jury filed out of their box that day, many of them looked pale and horrified by what they saw and heard. Daniel's doctor painted a very gruesome picture, describing in detail the extent of the injury, including the numerous surgeries performed to correct them. It didn't help that he provided pictures- a few of Daniel pre-injury, and several post-injury. There was a terribly obvious, stark contrast between then and now. He didn't even look like the same person- a bearded, muscle-bound, confident man before, and a buzz-cut, much skinnier, wheelchair-bound man now. Paxton didn't even bother to cross-examine the doctor- there was no way to argue with clear-cut, solid medical facts.

"That was awful," Punk muttered as they drove back to the hotel. "That was fucking insane. Did you see the way the jury was looking at me? Like I'm a monster. I'm done. I'm finished."

"Punk, stop," AJ scolded. "It's only the first day. There's plenty of witnesses and testimony left. And Zack, Kofi, Chris, and Kaitlyn get in tonight. When they testify for you, everyone will see that you're not the guy the ADA is making you out to be."

Punk just shook his head. They didn't talk after that. When they arrived at the hotel, he greeted Colt and Phillip briefly before disappearing into the gym. He pushed himself heavily- probably more than he should have, against doctor's orders. He emerged only when their friends arrived, and even then only to thank Chris profusely and hand him a check for $5 million.

He finally returned to AJ late that night, showering quickly and crawling into bed next to her. "Why are you pushing me away again?" she whispered, reaching out to stroke his back gently. He leaned into her touch, but gave her no answer.


	21. Chapter 21

"Jason, please, let me testify," Daniel begged.

"Daniel, I can't put you on the stand," Paxton said. "The jury seeing you wheel your way into the courtroom would destroy my entire case. I know you want to help, but I just can't risk it. Besides, Punk doesn't even know I know you."

"You… you haven't told him?" Daniel asked in disbelief. "He doesn't know? Damn it, Jason. So I'm guessing he doesn't know what happened with Jameson, either."

"He doesn't need to know in order for me to do my job," Paxton replied flatly. "Just let me do this, Daniel. I'm taking care of it."

"You have to let me testify!" Daniel insisted. "I'm coming to New York."

"No!" Paxton nearly shouted, alarmed. "You can't! Daniel, having no contact with you is one of the conditions of Punk's parole. If you're seen with him, he could go back to jail for the remainder of the trial. He almost died in there the first time." He sighed. "I know I can't stop you from doing what you want to do, but if you _must _show up, please… don't approach him."

"I won't," Daniel assured him, hanging up. No, he had a different plan.

* * *

The next morning, Punk and AJ were accompanied to the courthouse by Kofi, Kaitlyn, Zack, and Chris. Because each of them was named on the witness list, they weren't allowed to join AJ in the spectator benches. They would be sequestered, outside.

"We'll be right out here," Kaitlyn promised, drawing her best friend into a firm hug. "I'll see you at lunch, okay? And tonight we'll eat a lot of chocolate and talk about stupid things that don't matter."

AJ smiled broadly at her. Even at such a dire time, Kaitlyn could give her a small flicker of hope. "Thank you," she whispered, leaning her head on her friend's shoulder.

Meanwhile, the boys were giving Punk a pep talk. "Everything's gonna be fine," Zack assured him, clapping him supportively on the shoulder. "We're gonna kill it."

"I saw that steely bitch on TV yesterday," Chris added, then grinned. "She can't contend with me."

Punk forced himself to smile back. "Thanks, guys," he said, but he didn't believe a word of it.

Paxton approached them. "It's time," he said. "Let's go."

"Keep your head cool," Kofi advised, one last tip before he went to join the others on the bench.

* * *

Meyers' first witness of the day was a fan Punk had mistakenly hit in the crowd a few years ago. Punk remembered the incident- a man behind him had clocked him hard in the back of the head, and Punk had whirled around to retaliate, only to discover later that the man he'd pushed was not the one who attacked him. The mistakenly struck man had filed charges, but nothing had come of them.

"Mr. Gonzales, tell me what happened that night at WWE Monday Night RAW," Meyers said.

"Well," the young man began, "Punk ran into the audience as part of his match. He was standing on the stairs, a few feet away from me, and some people were pushing and punching him. I wasn't, but when he turned around and looked at me, he got really angry. He punched me in the face, and then shoved me to the ground."

Punk winced; the jury looked horrified. This was going downhill, fast. How could they possible recover from this upset? He was looking more and more like a violent sociopath as time went on.

"Objection," Paxton announced, rising from his seat. "This is another situation entirely. Relevance?"

"Goes to the defendant's thought process and problem solving methods," Meyers argued.

"Overruled," the judge decided.

"So to clarify," Meyers continued, "you were minding own business, and a WWE performer-in this case, our defendant Mr. Brooks-struck you out of anger?"

_Bullshit, _Punk thought, his fists curling. _I didn't hit him. I pushed him away because I thought he was fucking attacking me. He's twisting what happened. _The anger he felt must have been unintentionally evident in his body language, because he soon felt AJ's hand squeezing his shoulder. "Cool it," she whispered, knowing that all eyes were on him. Nodding slowly, he tried to relax his posture.

"That's right," the fan replied with a nod.

Meyers returned to her seat, and Paxton rose for his cross. "So let me get this straight," he said. "You were standing behind Mr. Brooks, and several men around him were attacking him?"

"That's correct."

"And you were standing amongst this group of attackers, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Gonzales answered.

"So when Mr. Brooks turned around, you were directly behind him…" Paxton said musingly. "Do you really blame him for suspecting you as one of his attackers?"

Gonzales looked down. "Well, no, but-"

"And you say he got _angry _at you," Paxton continued. "But isn't it really true that he was merely defending himself, and you were caught in the crossfire?"

The fan was flustered now, gripping the edge of the witness box. "Yeah, he was defending himself, but-"

Paxton smiled. "Nothing further," he said. He looked at Punk, who he could see was trying to look natural. It wasn't working. _Calm down, _he mouthed.

Meyers' next witness was someone neither AJ nor Punk had ever expected. Both their jaws hit the floor as John Lauranitis strode into the courtroom, flashing them each a winning smile as he made his way to the witness stand.

_No, _AJ thought miserably, shaking her head furiously. A knot was rapidly forming in her stomach, as though she'd swallowed stones. _No no no no no. He can't be here. He's not doing this. That son of a bitch! How could he?_ She turned rapidly to look at Punk, who was clearly seething with rage. His shoulders were shaking as his gaze followed John's progress up the middle aisle.

"Baby, no," she hissed. "Calm down, calm down…" But she was having just as much trouble doing the same for herself.

"Your Honor, I have to object to this witness," Paxton said quickly, all but leaping to his feet. "He wasn't presented to me in discovery and he hasn't been on the witness list!"

"I apologize, but he was a last-minute addition," Meyers explained. "I didn't know if he would be available, but just this morning he arrived."

"And who is this man?" the judge asked.

"This is John Lauranitis, the executive vice president of talent relations for World Wrestling Entertainment," she said.

"Hm." The judge stroked his chin. "I'll allow it."

"You can't!" Punk cried. "Lauranitis hates me! He'll say anything to-"

The judge banged his gavel. "Mr. Paxton, control your client!" he ordered.

"_Sit down_," Paxton hissed in Punk's ear, forcing him back into his seat by the shoulder. "You want to fuck this entire thing up? Control yourself!" But he was still struggling. "Your Honor, can we have a brief recess, please?"

The judge nodded. "15 minutes."

As soon as the gavel hit the bench, Paxton grabbed Punk by the sleeve and pulled him out of the court room. AJ followed quickly behind them, trying to keep up. When they reached the hallway, Paxton nearly exploded.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he cried.

"Do you know who that guy is?" Punk snapped. "That's the guy who put me up against Daniel again and again. He fueled Daniel's anger. He put AJ in danger, and it nearly killed our son before he was even born! He's hated me since the day I walked into that company, and he's done everything in his power to make things hard for me! He's going to lie his ass off!"

"I'm sure he will," Paxton assured him, "but that's no excuse for flying off the handle in the middle of the court room like that! You know what that shows the jury? It shows them you're the angry, violent, out-of-control asshole Meyers has been telling them you are!"

"You don't understand," AJ spoke up. "John's the monster here. He-"

"I don't care!" Paxton cut her off. "Both of you, do whatever you have to do to pull yourselves together! I'm not losing this case because you can't keep your head down!" He shook his head. "I'm going to get some air." He stormed off, leaving the couple alone.

"We're going to lose," Punk said quietly. He looked down.

"Don't say that!" AJ squeaked, swallowing hard. "We're not gonna lose."

Punk just shook his head. "Stop lying to yourself," he muttered sadly. "It's time to face reality."


	22. Chapter 22

"How well do you know Mr. Brooks?" Meyers asked.

John laced his fingers together. "I've known Mr. Brooks since 2005, when he was contracted for our developmental territory," he answered. "I was part of his hiring process. I've worked closely with him ever since."

"Then it's safe to say you know him pretty well, then," Meyers said with a nod. "So how would you describe Mr. Brooks?"

He shot a glance at Punk, who was wilting near the defense table, before answering. "He's nearly impossible to work with. Very headstrong. Won't listen to anyone. Always… marching to the beat of his own drum, so to speak. Doesn't take direction. If we-the creative and upper management team-give him a certain directive, he'll change it on live television without a single notice to us. He flies off the handle when reprimanded. No one can tell him what to do."

"So he has anger problems?" Meyers asked.

"I would say so, yes," John replied.

"Mr. Lauranitis, tell me about Mr. Brooks' wife April, and their relationship with Bryan Danielson."

John cleared his throat, suppressing a smile. "In late 2011," he began, "we put Mr. Danielson into a romantic storyline with Mrs. Brooks, who was still Miss Mendez at the time. Their on-screen relationship quickly developed into a genuine one. In April of 2012, after Wrestlemania 28, both their real and televised relationships ended. It was very public backstage; everyone knew about it, and April visibly fell into a deep depression. Shortly afterward, we put her in a love-triangle angle with Mr. Brooks. About a month after it began, they came into my office and told me she was pregnant."

A collective gasp was uttered from the jury box. Punk rolled his eyes; apparently out-of-wedlock pregnancy was still a big deal to some people. It didn't bother him, but a quick glance back at AJ told him that hearing her dirty laundry being aired in public once again made her quite uncomfortable. She was staring down at the floor, eyes hidden by the locks of hair that had fallen in front of her face.

"And who did they tell you was the father of April's baby?" Meyers asked.

"Objection, your Honor," Paxton piped up, hurrying to his feet. "Is Mrs. Brooks on trial here?"

"I'm inclined to agree, Ms. Meyers," the judge said.

"Your Honor, this is the crux of my whole case," Meyers argued. "This goes Mr. Brooks' motive."

The judge sighed. "Fine," he agreed. "Overruled."

Paxton sat down, dismayed, while Meyers quashed her small smile. "You may answer the question, Mr. Lauranitis," she said.

"They couldn't tell me who the father of the baby was," John answered. "At that time, it was revealed that April was sleeping with both Mr. Danielson and Mr. Brooks."

Another gasp. _Get over it, _Punk thought, but he knew his callousness wasn't helping AJ. She was crumpled against him, reliving that terrible and confusing time over and over again in her head. _You fucking bastard, Lauranitis… You couldn't just stay in your goddamn office in Titan Towers, could you? You still have to fuck with my life._

"So April didn't know which of these men fathered her child?" Meyers clarified.

"Not until the baby was born," John said. "The father turned out to be Mr. Brooks. But throughout the pregnancy, the two of them fought constantly, with Mr. Brooks sending Mr. Danielson to the hospital on one occasion. This was before the major injury last year, of course."

"Thank you, Mr. Lauranitis," Meyers said. "No further questions."

"We're going to break for lunch now," the judge announced. "Mr. Paxton, you may begin your cross-examination afterward. We'll resume in an hour." He banged his gavel, and everyone began to file out of the court room.

* * *

"Just ask him _why _they had all of those fights," AJ said as they (or Paxton, rather; neither Punk nor AJ had much of an appetite this afternoon) ate. "Daniel almost caused a miscarriage and tried to rape me on our wedding day!"

"And that just proves their case for them," Paxton reminded her. "Sure, it shows he's a jealous, crazy asshole, but last time I checked that isn't a crime, and he wasn't charged in either of those instances. By bringing up those incidents, we're showing you had plenty of reasons to seek revenge. We're lucky Meyers didn't."

"So then what do we do?" she cried, slamming a fist on the table. The force of the blow nearly tipped Paxton's sandwich to the floor. She looked wildly to Punk, who was silent.

"I can try to discredit him," Paxton answered after a moment of thought. "I'll have to bring up the near-miscarriage incident, but I don't have any other option."

"Punk, say something," AJ begged, shaking his arm. She always looked to him for support, and as usual lately, he was falling by the wayside. "Please."

"What do you want me to say?" he muttered. "I'm going to prison."

* * *

"Mr. Lauranitis," Paxton asked, "why are you here?"

"I'm simply doing my civic duty," he answered, leaning forward slightly. "A man on my roster was nearly killed due to Mr. Brooks' actions."

"Are you sure about that?" Paxton pressed. "It isn't possible that you might be exaggerating some of your claims, in order to seek revenge on Mr. Brooks for the fine you received?"

"Of course not!" John snapped, straightening up his shoulders.

"Really?" Paxton asked. "So you weren't fined back in 2012 for the incident involving Mrs. Brooks and Bryan Danielson in the early months of her pregnancy?"

"No, I… I was," John admitted, clearly flustered.

"Tell us about that incident, Mr. Lauranitis," Paxton said.

John cleared his throat, fiddling with his tie for a moment. "When Punk- Mr. Brooks, I mean, lifted Mr. Danielson up to perform his finishing move, Mr. Danielson slid over his shoulders and knocked into April, who was standing ringside."

"And what happened to April?"

"She… very nearly suffered a miscarriage," John answered after a moment's pause, swallowing hard.

AJ felt tears spring to her eyes at the memory. It had been one of the worst nights she'd ever experienced, fearing for the life of the baby she hadn't even met yet. She remembered her legs, sticky with blood, and being rushed to the hospital with a frantic, shaking Punk by her side. She looked at her husband now; his expression was cold and flat, and he appeared unaffected. She wondered if he was simply trying to suppress his emotions.

"And what happened after _that_, John?" Paxton was standing right in front of the witness box now.

"Mr. Brooks complained to my superiors," he answered tightly. "I was fined as a result."

"But _why _were you fined?" Paxton demanded.

"Because…" He bit his lip. "Because April wasn't supposed to be present at ringside for matches due to her pregnancy, and I told her she had to be there."

"And how much was your fine for putting a pregnant woman in danger?"

John looked down. "$500,000."

Paxton turned away from him. "Nothing further."

* * *

"So what happens tomorrow?" AJ asked as they ducked out of the courtroom. They were headed down the hallway, where their ready-to-testify friends waited.

"There's no one left on the prosecution's witness list," Paxton told her. "Unless she pulls someone else out from left field again-which I doubt, I don't think the judge will let it slide another time-it will probably be our turn." He looked from AJ to Punk. "I hope your boys get in on time tonight."

Punk, who hadn't been listening up until that point, looked up. "Huh?" he asked. "Oh, yeah. They'll be here. Paul and Michael wouldn't let me down."

That night, everyone went out to eat (including Colt, who brought Phillip to join them at the restaurant). Punk didn't agree with their dinner plans- to him, going out with everyone seemed like a celebration, and he didn't see any reason to celebrate. But AJ dragged him out of the hotel anyway. She needed to be around other people. They reminded her that the world wasn't ending quite yet… even if Punk thought it already had.

Later on, she awoke in the middle of the night to find that Punk was not next to her. She didn't see the light on in the bathroom, either. Frowning, she crept out of bed and approached the door to their adjoining room, which was open. She leaned against the doorway, keeping her movements slow and quiet. From her vantage point she saw Punk on the edge of the bed, cradling a sleeping Phillip against gently against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he was whispering to their son tearfully. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry."


	23. Chapter 23

The next morning, AJ was still unnerved by what she'd seen the previous night. It wasn't Punk randomly holding Phillip in the middle of night that bothered her- he often sat with their son at night, keeping an eye on him, even when he didn't need to be soothed back to sleep. No, it was the apologizes that unsettled her- the tearfully whispered, hurried, baseless apologies. What was he apologizing to their baby for? What did he believe he'd done? She wanted to ask him about it, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to violate the sanctity of the moment her two men had shared.

She was still brooding about it when they arrived at the courthouse. They managed to dodge the press again, as they had throughout the whole week, by parking near the service entrance. Her eyes lit up when they fell upon the forms of Paul Heyman and Michael Hayes- perhaps their presence would be able to convince Punk that he still had a chance.

"Thanks for doing this," Punk said, shaking hands firmly with each of them. "It means a lot to me."

"You know I'm always in your corner," Paul assured him, clapping him on the back.

Punk managed to laugh at this. "I know you are, but Mike here didn't have much faith in me in the very beginning, did he?"

"Damn right," Michael answered, "and you can thank your buddy Paul for that, remember?"

AJ remained silent as the three men bantered. She didn't want to disturb their obvious connection, simply smiling at both of them as they headed inside to meet Paxton and the others.

"Do we testify today?" Kaitlyn asked after hugging her.

"I'm not sure," AJ replied. "There might not be time. I hope you do- I'd hate for any of you to have to miss RAW on Monday."

"I already put in a notice," Kofi told her. "Even if we're done, I'm still gonna be here."

AJ gasped. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Can you even do that?" The thought of her friends getting in trouble at work in order to support her made her stomach turn.

"Management wasn't happy," Zack admitted, "but they can't reprimand or fire us for being excused for legal proceedings. I checked- it's in our contracts."

"Look at you, brushing up on your legal skills," Chris teased, pushing the younger man's shoulder playfully. "And here I thought you were still a dumbass Edgehead."

"Oh, I'm still an Edgehead," Zack assured him.

"But what about the 'dumbass' part?" Kofi asked with a grin.

"_Boys_," Kaitlyn intoned.

AJ managed a small smile. "I love you guys," she whispered. They were all that was keeping her sane.

* * *

As Paxton expected, the prosecution rested as soon as they started. AJ was grateful; now Paxton could begin the painstaking process of tearing down Meyers' work and painting a picture of his own. The first witness he called to the stand was, as AJ expected, Punk's longtime friend and mentor, Paul Heyman.

Paxton took Paul through a brief history of Punk's early career, carefully highlighting Punk's willingness to submit himself to authority as he made his way through the ranks of the WWE. It wasn't much, but Paxton hoped it would counteract some of John Lauranitis's testimony. He also used Paul as one of his 'wrestling experts'. Paul confirmed that, with a move like Punk's Go To Sleep, it was indeed possible for an injury of that magnitude was possible from an accident.

Meyers rose for her cross-examination. "So you're telling me _this_," she said, pointing to the screen, where a still image of Punk raising Daniel over his shoulders was displayed, "was an accident?"

Paul merely blinked at her. "I'm not sure what you mean, Ms. Meyers," he said coolly. Paul was a talker- no shark-like lawyer could best him in a battle of wits.

Meyers was taken aback by Paul's demeanor, but she quickly recovered. "He's clearly moving Mr. Danielson's body forward to slam him down on his knee," she said. "You're telling me that was just a tragic accident?"

Paul folded his arms. "Ms. Meyers, have you ever wrestled before?" he asked. "I'm guessing not. So you wouldn't know that, after half an hour of grappling and throwing two hundred pound men around a ring in the blazing heat, you would be covered in sweat. You wouldn't know that damp wrist tape drastically reduces your ability to grip things, especially an equally damp body you're lifting above your head. You wouldn't know that wrestling moves are so precise that just an inch or two out of place can spell disaster for the person receiving the move. So when the exhausted, sweating Phillip Brooks lifted the 200-pound exhausted, sweating Bryan Danielson above his head, Daniel slipped just far enough for the move to become truly devastating to him, instead of just appearing devastating."

Meyers scowled. "Nothing further," she snapped.

Punk had to work hard to hide his smile. He knew calling Paul had been a good idea- Paul never let him down. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.

After lunch, it was Michael's turn. His testimony was quite similar to Paul's, and it held even more weight, because Michael had wrestled for many years before becoming involved in the business aspect of the company. By the time Paxton stepped down, Punk was feeling even better. Had these two men just saved his life?

But Punk would quickly realize he spoke too soon.

Meyers rose with a broad smile on her face. "Mr. Hayes," she began, "have you ever had a problem with drugs or alcohol?"

"Objection," Paxton nearly shouted. "Relevance?"

"Goes to the witness's credibility," Meyers said automatically.

"Overruled," the judge decided. Paxton returned to his seat, deflated. Meanwhile, Punk's heart was pounding- what was Meyers getting at? "Answer the question, Mr. Hayes."

"Yes," Michael answered stiffly.

"Isn't it true that your addiction became so bad several years ago that your house was in foreclosure?"

Michael looked frantically to Punk for a moment before nodding.

"I need an audible answer, Mr. Hayes," Meyers prodded.

"Yes!" Michael snapped. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"But doesn't it have everything to do with the reason why you're testifying for Mr. Brooks?" she pressed. "Because in 2010, he bought your house back from the bank and gave it to you? He did the same for another drug-addicted wrestler as well, isn't that true?"

Michael looked down for a moment. "Yes, but that's not the reason I'm testifying!" he protested. "I'm testifying because everything I'm saying is true!"

"Oh, come on, Mr. Hayes!" Meyers crowed. "We all know the real reason why you're here. Mr. Brooks bailed you out, and now you're here to return the favor! Isn't that true?"

"No!" Michael snapped.

Meyers smiled. "No further questions," she said.

"We'll adjourn for the day," the judge announced as Meyers returned to her seat. "Because tomorrow is a national holiday, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, we will resume on Monday at 9 AM."

Neither Punk nor AJ uttered a single word until they exited the courthouse. Their friends caught up with them as they reached the car, begging for answers. "Monday," Paxton told them all. "We're resuming on Monday, and that's when you'll testify."

"Punk, I'm so sorry," Michael said as soon as he reached them. "I had no idea she would go there, and I… I couldn't lie…" He looked ashen.

"Mike, it's okay," Punk assured him. "It's not your fault. I understand."

But inside, he was numb. His case was done. It had to be.

* * *

AJ, Punk, Colt, and Phillip took a red-eye flight home to Chicago that evening. Colt didn't even bother asking either of them what happened that day- he'd watched the trial unfold on television during Phillip's nap. He knew what implications Michael's testimony held, and it wasn't good. "So I'll see you guys on Sunday night," he said as they parted ways at the airport.

"Colt, you don't have to-" AJ began.

"I don't want to hear it," Colt cut her off. "I'm gonna be there, all right? I have to be." He hugged them both goodbye, as well as Phillip before hailing a taxi back to his apartment.

When they returned home, Punk insisted on being the one to bathe Phillip and put him to bed. He spent a long time in their son's room, reading him several stories before finally putting him down in the crib. His behavior, much like the previous night, again puzzled AJ- it almost reminded her of the night he admitted to cheating on her. But surely this was not the case tonight. It couldn't be.

She was curled up on the couch when he finally returned downstairs, flipping through a collected volume of Avengers comics. She didn't even realize until she closed the book that she had only made it through a few pages, unable to focus enough to get much further.

"Hey," she said quietly, sitting up to make room for him as he entered the living room. But he didn't sit down. Frowning, she stood. "What's wrong?"

"We need to talk," he said, so quietly it was nearly a whisper.

"Baby, I know today was rough, but-"

He held up a hand. "Just stop, okay? Listen." He looked down for a moment. "AJ, today was proof of what I've been afraid of all along. I'm going to lose." He took a deep breath. "And when that happens… I want you as far away from me as possible."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"I'm going to prison, AJ!" he shouted. He paused for a moment, trying to regain his composure. "I'm going to prison, and I know that!" His heart broke more and more with each word he spoke. Every cell in his body screamed at him not to do this… But he had to. For her sake. "And I… I don't want you or Phillip to miss me. If you… If you both hate me now, it'll be easier to deal with never seeing me again."

"Punk, no…" she begged tearfully. Surely he couldn't be… leaving her… "I love you…"

"I love you, too," he whispered, his voice breaking. "That's why I'm doing this. I'll divorce you, leave all of the money and everything we own to you, and that way you'll both be taken care of…"

"No!" she cried. "You can't do this!" She ran to him, grabbing at his shirt desperately. "Punk, we can't beat this! Don't say things like that!" She tried to kiss him but he turned his cheek, shaking his head.

"I have to," he whispered in her ear. "I can't keep doing this to you anymore. You'll be better off without me… And maybe someday, you'll find a guy who's worthy of you and Phillip… Someone who won't hurt you like I have…"

"No!" she yelled, slapping him.

He reeled back from her, his cheek stinging. "I'm sorry," he muttered, twisting his wedding ring off his finger. He set it on the coffee table before turning away from her, grabbing his suitcase from near the door. "Please don't come to New Jersey on Monday. I don't want you to see this anymore." With one last lingering glance at his sobbing wife, he walked out the door. He didn't want to leave them, but he couldn't watch them fall apart any longer. He would wallow in his own misery, the way he had always felt he deserved to.

* * *

**Author's note: So for those of you who have seen Punk's DVD, you know about him giving Joey Mercury the money to save his house because he was in trouble. Well, I decided to borrow that story and apply it to Michael Hayes as well to make our story flow better. I hope that clears up any confusion! Also, HUGE shoutout to Red Foxy for brainstorming with me on this one. **


	24. Chapter 24

Colt spent most of Friday working out and watching movies, trying desperately to clear the past week from his head. He didn't want to think about anything he'd heard and seen. He didn't want to think about court. He didn't want to think about AJ's tearful call to him last night, or throwing Punk out of his apartment when he'd shown up on Colt's doorstep. Leaving his wife and son! What the hell had been the point of that? How could he abandon them when they needed each other the most? It was the first and only time Colt had refused to come to Punk's aid… and the whole thing made him more furious than he'd ever been in his life.

Every time an image of Punk behind bars or AJ sobbing came into his head, he immediately went on to another activity that could busy his mind. He just couldn't bear to think about it. This wasn't the light-hearted, easy-going happenings of life he was used to. This pain, this anguish, this anger… It wasn't him. But he felt it now, and it was killing him.

While he had ignored every single call and e-mail he received that day, he did call AJ at multiple intervals throughout the day. Every time, it went straight to voicemail. He could only assume she was curled up on her bed, crying. In his heart, he knew he should go check on her… but he couldn't bring himself to disturb her grief. He decided to leave her alone unless she reached out.

That evening, as he was preparing to pop an old horror movie into his DVD player, his phone rang. As he snatched it off the coffee table, he was just about to send the call to voicemail when he saw it was AJ's name on his screen. He had to answer. "AJ?" he said quickly. "Is everything all right?"

"Can you come over?" she asked. Something was wrong with her voice, and he couldn't place why.

"Sure, of course," he replied. He was already off the couch, searching for his shoes as he grabbed his car keys. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she muttered. "I just need you."

He sped over to the house once occupied by his best friend; there was only one car in the driveway. Sighing, he pulled up next to AJ's car and got out to knock on the front door.

She opened it a moment later, a broad smile on her face. "You're here," she said, grabbing the collar of his jacket and yanking him inside. She stumbled slightly, then giggled.

He awkwardly closed the door behind him, confused by her behavior. "How are you holding up?" he asked. "I've been worried about you all day. I would have come here earlier, but I didn't want to disturb you…" He frowned, glancing around as he walked further into the house. "Where's Phillip? Is he asleep?" The high chair in the kitchen was empty, as was the playpen in the living room. Having babysat the boy many times now, he knew Phillip almost never slept at this time.

"He's at Punk's sister's," she told him, her voice slurred slightly. And that's when it hit him.

"AJ," he asked, "have you been drinking?"

She looked away, quickly turning and running into the kitchen. He followed, spotting the empty beer bottles on the counter. "Don't lie to me," he ordered. "How much have you had?"

She looked down, ashamed. "Just these," she muttered, gesturing to the bottles he'd already found. He could believe that- AJ normally didn't drink, and she was a small woman. It wouldn't take much to get her drunk.

"AJ, you can't just drink your feelings away!" he exclaimed, exasperated. How could she sink to this level? She and Punk had had problems before, and she'd never turned to alcohol. This had to mean she had truly hit rock bottom. "That's… that's no way to cope!"

"I know it's not," she whispered. "That's why I called you." She pulled him to her by his shirt, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"What- what are you doing?" he asked nervously. He tried to lean away.

"Shhh," she muttered. "It's okay." She pulled him closer, pinning him back against the counter as she pressed her body firmly onto his.

"AJ, you can't…" His heart was beating wildly. Was his best friend's wife really coming onto him?

"Don't worry," she murmured into his ear. Pressing her lips to his cheek, she began to slowly slide one of her hands across his belt buckle, dipping it beneath the hem of his jeans.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He pushed her back, alarmed, holding her by the shoulders at arm's length. "AJ, what the fuck are you doing?"

Her eyes, slightly bloodshot, lazily focused on his. "I need you," she pleaded.

He shook his head. "You've been drinking, AJ," he said, lowering his arms. "You're not thinking clearly. You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm in pain! I tried numbing it with alcohol, and it didn't work! I just…" She looked down, wiping her cheeks. "I need to feel something other than pain."

"I can't!" He shook his head again, furiously this time. This wasn't happening. "Punk's my best friend. You're my best friend! I can't do this! You can't do this! Punk-"

"Punk _left _me!" she shouted.

"But you're still-"

"Colt, please," she begged, biting her lower lip for a moment as she came closer to him. "I need someone to take care of me." This time, when she pressed her lips to his, he didn't pull away.

It had been almost two years since she had kissed a man other than Punk. She wasn't prepared for the absence of stubble and a lip ring. But it was a feeling… A different feeling. And she needed it. She leaned deeper into their kiss, pressing her stomach to his as she felt his arms wrap around her.

They made their way to the living room, stumbling slightly as Colt kicked out of shoes. He let go of her just long enough to shrug his jacket off, and they tumbled onto the couch. Every sensibility and fierce sense of loyalty in his mind and gut told him to stop as he peeled off her shirt, her bra, her shorts. But his anger toward Punk's stupidity, and the desperate sadness in AJ's eyes as he stripped his own shirt off told him to keep going.

He groaned into her neck as she ran her hands all over his back and chest. Again, she was acutely aware of his differences. His stocky build, his broad shoulders, his defined muscles- his body was nothing like Punk's. Thinking about it made her shiver, but she forced herself to ignore it so she could enjoy this. She nipped sharply at his neck, unbuckling his belt and sliding his jeans over his hips. They were in a desperate race to remove their clothes- she suddenly wasn't sure who needed this more, but it didn't matter. She let out a satisfied groan when they were finally skin against skin, already feeling him growing hard above her.

His hands began to travel the unfamiliar landscape of her body, a body he never imagined he would see like this. They journeyed up her inner thighs and over her stomach, before finally resting on her breasts. She whimpered, arching her back as she leaned into his touch. "Touch me," she whispered, her voice dripping with desire as one of her hands landed atop his. She guided his hand down her torso, settling it between her legs.

He bit his lip to stifle a gasp. Was he really here, now, with her? The silent plea in her eyes told him he was. Swallowing his reservations, he slipped in a finger, thrusting it between the folds of her silky smooth skin. She mewed at him in response, her whole body quivering against him. He quickly added another finger, eliciting more feathered cries. She was quickly reaching her peak, but a sudden urge was overcoming her.

She pressed a hand firmly to his chest, and before he could even open his mouth she shoved him back onto the couch. Without warning, she took him into her mouth. "Oh, fuck," he gasped, leaning his head back. She swirled her tongue up and down the length of him, causing his fists to curl automatically. With so much adrenaline running through his veins, it was easy to forget who was between his legs.

AJ didn't know if it was the alcohol coursing through her system, but something about this night was definitely making her more bold. Normally, she let Punk take the lead… But this wasn't Punk, and this wasn't a normal night. She released him with a pop, her lust-filled eyes meeting his. He knew exactly what her expression meant, what she desired from him. He was ready to give her what she needed.

He pushed her back and climbed over her, prying her legs apart. Settling herself beneath him, she knew this was their last chance to turn back. But her heart was pounding so fast, she was sure he could hear it pulsing. She wanted this… She needed this. Taking hold of his shoulders, she dug her nails into his skin as he pushed himself between her legs. A deep, echoing moan escaped her lips as he entered her.

As he bucked and groaned inside her, both of them knew this wasn't about sex. It wasn't about love, or even revenge. It was raw pain they poured into each other's bodies, a passionate anger that ebbed and flowed between them. It was a deep, aching need to feel.

Her body shuddered in devious, sinful pleasure as his hips crashed violently against hers. She cried out against his neck, raking her nails down his back. She was all but numb when she finally felt him release, groaning and growling into her ear. Their bodies finally slowed, both covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

As soon as he caught his breath, he sat up on the edge of the couch. He looked back at AJ, who was already asleep. He was already regretting what had happened between them, and already hated himself. Would she hate herself in the morning, too? Would she even remember what happened? He had to get the hell out of here, before he exploded.

He quickly got dressed, struggling with his shoes before covering her with a blanket. His eyes fell upon a wedding photo as he made his way to the door- as if he needed any more reminder of how terribly he'd just betrayed them both. Shaking his head, he ducked out of the house.

* * *

**Author's note: And now I sit back and wait for my hate mail, LOL. I'm sorry I'm such a heartbreaker, everyone. I just can't help it. Everything looks hopeless now, but I promise there's hope on the horizon!**


	25. Chapter 25

AJ awoke the next morning with the worst, most splitting headache she'd ever experienced. Groaning as she sat up, she was sure she now knew what it was like to be bludgeoned with a sledgehammer. Massaging her forehead with one hand, she clutched the blanket that had been draped across her body. She frowned; why was she naked, and why was she on the couch? What on Earth happened last night?

She stood up shakily, her legs wobbling slightly as she made her way to the kitchen with her blanket wrapped around her. When her eyes landed on the empty beer bottles strewn carelessly about the counter, a horrified gasp escaped her. Pulling back the blanket, she nearly stumbled- her chest was rubbed raw by the outline of teeth, her inner thighs scraped with claw marks. The events of the previous night were rushing back to her with terrible clarity, and she had grab onto the door handle of the refrigerator to keep from collapsing. She remembered everything- calling Colt over to the house, begging him to stay with her, falling onto the couch together as he tore at her clothes, writhing beneath him as he moved inside her…

Tears rapidly sprang to her eyes as she slid down against the fridge. Reality was crashing down hard on her shoulders now. Last night, she did the unthinkable- after a failed attempt at drowning her anguish in the substance that destroyed Punk's childhood, she had seduced and slept with his best friend. She stared down at her wedding ring; the tight gold band burned on her finger. This was wrong. Everything about this was so wrong. Punk leaving, her betrayal… She just wanted to go back to a time when things were simpler, before any of this started.

* * *

Colt was a whirlwind of conflicted emotions as he sat in his darkened living room. He'd been there all night, unable to fall asleep for even a moment. Too many thoughts were running through his head to even hope to rest. On one hand, he was wracked with horrible guilt- if sleeping with your best friend's wife wasn't the ultimate betrayal, he didn't know what was. But on the other hand, Punk left her unceremoniously, for a reason that made no sense to him- he saw no reason to give up hope on the trial until it was over, and here Punk just walked out on not only his wife, but also his son.

Not that Punk abandoning his family excused Colt's actions. He still felt exceedingly awful about what he had done, regardless of how he tried to justify it to himself. No matter how furious he was at Punk for walking out when he was needed most, or how sorry he felt for AJ, he knew what happened last night was wrong.

A knot formed in his stomach whenever the thought of confessing to Punk crossed his mind. Nothing like this had ever happened before in the course of their friendship. How would his brawling straight edger even react? Violently, Colt guessed. Maybe he shouldn't say anything… Maybe he should talk to AJ, swear her to secrecy, and both of them could just forget this ever happened.

But even as the ridiculous plan rolled through his head, he knew it was foolish. He remembered ganging up on Punk for his tryst with Lita; how could he possibly stand on a moral pedestal and pretend what he'd done wasn't just as bad? No, as much as it would likely kill them both, he had to come clean. Biting his lip, he grabbed his phone.

* * *

"So I guess you don't think I'm an idiot anymore?" Punk asked, leaning against the doorframe. Colt had rushed over to his hotel as soon as they hung up, only saying they needed to talk, nothing more.

Colt sighed. "It's… complicated," he answered finally. "Look, can I just come in?"

"Sure, yeah." Punk stepped back, allowing him to enter the room. He frowned as he closed the door, eyeing the other man up and down. "You look awful."

He managed a laugh. "You don't exactly look like a million bucks, yourself," he noted. It was true- both of them sported dark circles under their eyes, unkempt hair, and rumpled clothing. It was clear they were lacking in sleep, though likely for completely different reasons.

With a heavy sigh, Punk sat down on the edge of his bed. The blankets and pillows hadn't been disturbed at all- he didn't even bother to attempt getting any rest since checking into his hotel. It had been a rough night- plenty of furious words shouted at the mirror, angrily knocking over furniture, and countless sit-ups and push-ups to clear his mind of the terrible pain he felt. Naturally, none if it worked. An image of a miserable AJ and Phillip was constantly before him, reminding him of everything he left behind. More than once, he considered going back- but every time his hand hit the doorknob, he remembered why he left in the first place.

If they hated him now, they wouldn't miss him later.

"So, I don't think you're here to tell me off again for how stupid you think I am," he said. He was still a little surprised at how harshly Colt reacted- he'd never been thrown off his buddy's doorstep before. But he understood. "Does this mean you don't think I'm a complete idiot anymore?"

"No, I still think you're an idiot for leaving your family," Colt assured him. "But… I did something stupid, too." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, staring at the ground.

Frowning again, Punk looked up at him. "What do you mean?" he asked. What could Colt possibly be talking about? His former college football star friend had almost always been the more level-headed member of their duo.

"Look, I…" He sighed, turning to pace the room. "I did something bad, man. Really bad. And you're probably going to hate me for it, but you deserve to know."

"Okay, who did you kill?" Punk teased.

"Damn it, Phil, this isn't a joke!" Colt snapped, stopping in his tracks to stare straight at him.

At this, Punk's eyes widened. He could count on one hand the number of times Colt used Punk's real name in recent memory. "All right, just tell me," he said, his demeanor shifting. Whatever Colt had done, it was serious enough that it was weighing heavily on his conscience now.

"I…" Colt looked down again. "God damn it." How could he do this? How could he hurt his friend like this? He had to get out of here, before… No. It was too late to back out. He had to own up to his transgressions… no matter how much it killed them both. "Fuck. I'm not gonna beat around the bush anymore. Last night, AJ called me crying and asked me to come over. When I got there, I found out she'd been drinking, and-"

"_What_?" Punk cried, leaping to his feet. "She was drunk? Oh, fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me? What have I done to her? I-"

"Stop." Colt held up his hand. "That's not all. She… she came onto me." He could feel his heart rate climbing with every word.

"Fuck, really?" He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm sorry, dude. Hell, I'm not even really surprised she would do something like that while intoxicated- I don't think she's ever been drunk before. She wouldn't know how to handle it."

"Punk, listen to me!" Colt snapped. "I slept with her, okay? I fucking slept with her!"

Was this what a heart attack felt like? It had to be. Pain in the left arm, right? That was where it started. It traveled up his arm, a bolt of electricity sizzling through his veins and straight to the place in his chest that hurt the most. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the night stand beside him. Surely all of this pain was negatively affecting his hearing… Yes, that had to be why he thought Colt said something so unspeakably awful. "You… you what?" he whispered.

"We had sex, damn it!" Colt nearly yelled, unable to meet Punk's devastated gaze. His heart was breaking- he'd never seen Punk in so much obvious pain before. "She was crying, in so much pain, and she begged me, and it just happened! I'm sorry, man. I'm a dickhead, okay? I'm a complete and total fuck up. I just-"

"You _fucked _my _wife_?" Punk shouted incredulously. "You, my _best friend_, went to _my house_, and _fucked her_?" His whole body was shaking with rage. He had to remind himself to keep breathing, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

"Hey, you left her!" Colt shot back with a sudden twinge of anger. "You walked out, remember?"

"That doesn't make it okay!" Punk cried. "She- she was drunk! She was upset! She was vulnerable, and you took advantage of her! You- you slept with my wife!" He was in complete and utter shock and disbelief. There was no way the only man he trusted with his life had done something so unthinkable.

"Says the guy who fucking cheated on her six months after she gave birth to your son!" Colt growled, his voice laced with venom. He didn't know where this resentment was coming from. He was the one confessing here, and was finding himself just as upset with Punk as Punk was with him. "I didn't take advantage of her, you asshole. I gave her what you couldn't!"

"_You son of a bitch_!" Punk launched himself at him, knocking Colt to the floor. He delivered a flurry of punches, managing to strike Colt several times before he was able to block. He shoved Punk off him, scrambling to his feet to initiate an attack of his own. He threw himself into Punk at the hips, shoving him back into the table. It broke beneath the force of their weight, splitting into several pieces and crashing to the ground.

Lying amongst the splintered remains of the table didn't deter either of them. Punk brought his knee up into Colt's stomach, kneeing him several times. Colt groaned in pain, ducking back to deliver a sharp kick to Punk's still-healing ribs. He let out a deep howl, fingers curling as he fought to roll away. Colt dragged him back, seizing him by the ankle to pull the tattooed man underneath him. His fist whipped across Punk's face. Growling again, Punk reared his head back and butted it into Colt's nose. Yelping, Colt sprang back. He fell against the night stand, knocking the lamp over. Punk used the opportunity to regain his bearings, fighting to get to his feet. He launched himself at Colt again, hearing the lamp shatter under their backs.

They continued to battle mercilessly, striking each other again and again. Neither was sure how much time passed; they could only hear fists striking skin, bodies crashing to the floor, and the ever-present sound of their hearts pounding. They just kept swinging, desperate cries of pain and anger escaping them both.

Eventually, they reeled back. Colt leaned against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position as Punk lay back on the floor. A thin line of blood dribbled down from Punk's split lip; Colt's nose was bright red. They glanced at the destruction around them; the fight had taken them all over the room, destroying furniture and plaster and tearing the place apart.

"What…" Punk breathed as he sat up, trying to get his wind back, "what happens now?"

"I don't… I don't know," Colt muttered, equally as exhausted.

They sat in silence across from each other, gazes never breaking. They didn't know if there was anything left now. They weren't sure if it even mattered.


	26. Chapter 26

Punk wasn't sure how long he and Colt sat there, chests heaving as they tried to get their wind back. It could have been years; it could have been seconds, for all they knew. Time had come as close as possible to stopping, and the only sound either of them was aware of was their own labored breathing.

The void that separated them felt like a mile wide, when in fact they were mere feet apart. Neither of them knew where to go from here; in all of their nearly 17 years of friendship, nothing anywhere close to this magnitude had ever occurred. Punk wasn't sure he could remember the last time they even argued, let alone pummeled each other into submission. What could they do? What could they say? Maybe neither of them should say a thing. Maybe if they just kept sitting there, kept on breathing, nothing would have to change.

But the solace they found in their timeless silence couldn't last forever. It was Colt who first rose from the wreckage, using a broken table leg to aid him as he stood. He looked down at Punk, who was leaning against the opposite wall. The air between them was still charged tension as their eyes met, gazes locked in a silent battle of their own. They finally broke when Colt turned away, hobbling toward the door. He cast one last glance at the tattooed man on the floor.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Me too," Punk muttered back.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want us to come?" Cassie asked.

"I wish you could," AJ admitted, taking Phillip from her outstretched arms. "But he doesn't even want me and Phillip there anymore. This trial… It's changed him." She bit her lip, holding Phillip close. She wanted so badly to confess to Punk's sister that he had in fact left, but she couldn't bring herself to. She didn't want her to think poorly of him for it, especially in light of what she did the previous night.

"Are you sure?" she pressed, leaning against the doorframe. "I've been so worried, AJ. All of us have. He won't answer any of our phone calls and he's just pushing everyone away." Her earnest, concerned expression made AJ feel even more guilty.

"I know," AJ muttered, looking down as she clutched a groggy Phillip to her chest. "I'll call you as soon as I hear anything, I promise." Cassie walked her out to the car, opening the door so AJ could put the baby in his car seat. "Thanks so much for watching him yesterday. I- I mean we, Punk and I, really just needed a day to relax." She inhaled tightly as she buckled Phillip in. _Watch what you say, _she thought.

"Call me if you need anything," Cassie urged. "Please."

"I will," AJ assured her. The two women hugged, AJ hanging on a little longer than she meant to. The embrace was comforting, and it was a feeling she'd had very little of lately. She bid Punk's sister goodbye, driving off with a heavy heart. That woman, her sisters, and their mother had always been so good to Punk, and were very quick to accept AJ into the family. She felt terrible for lying.

The house felt too big and empty for just too people. AJ shivered as she closed the door behind her, and she knew it wasn't just from the cold. It was from the stillness in the air that surrounded her, the silenced that echoed across the walls.

Looking down at the sleeping baby in her arms, she was glad for Phillip's slumber. She had the absurd thought that if he was awake, he would somehow smell Colt's cologne she was sure still lingered on her skin. Rationally, she knew this was impossible; she'd taken at least three showers so far today, and it was only the early afternoon. But a small, terrified part of her was positive the hawk-like eyes Phillip possessed that were identical to his father's would be able to spot the marks Colt left on her that had already begun to fade from view.

Taking a deep breath, she went upstairs to put Phillip down in his crib. She crept silently out of the room, sinking hopelessly onto her bed. She didn't know where to go from here. Punk had made it clear he didn't want her to be present at the trial anymore, but how could she stay away? He needed her; she knew that. But she didn't know how to make him see it, especially now. She didn't even know if she would be able to face him anymore, after what she'd done.

She was still sitting with her head in her hands, mulling over her options when the door bell rang. "Damn it," she growled, sure the sound had woken her son, but the baby monitor remained silent. Sighing with relief, she hurried down the stairs to answer the door.

"Uh, hey," Colt said awkwardly.

AJ frowned at him; he was the last person she wanted at her door right now. "Why didn't you just use your key?" she asked. "Phillip's asleep. The doorbell could have woken him up."

"I didn't want to just barge into your house," he replied. "Especially after-" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, can I just come in?"

She folded her arms defensively but stepped back, allowing him inside. "What do you want?" she snapped, tapping a foot impatiently.

"We need to talk," he said flatly.

"I don't think we have anything to talk about," she replied coolly. She knew at heart her anger was misdirected- he didn't deserve her wrath. This was just as much her fault as it was his, but she couldn't help her irritation toward him.

"AJ, please," he begged. "This isn't about what happened with… us. Not, directly, anyway." He swallowed hard, as though merely referencing what happened between them struck a painful nerve. "It's about Punk."

"What about- oh my God, Colt! What the hell happened to you?" In her earlier upset, she had failed to notice the thick cut on the bridge of his nose, and the dried blood caked around it. "You… you told him, didn't you?"

There was no point in denying it. He nodded.

"And he hit you?"she cried, hand covering her mouth. "Oh my God, this is all my fault… I'm so sorry, this is all my fault…" Fresh tears were rapidly springing to her eyes.

"Hey, hey, calm down," he said quickly. "Yeah, I told him. He hit me… and I hit back. We had a pretty big fight." He sighed. "Fuck, fight is an understatement. But that's not what I came here to talk about. AJ, we need be there in New Jersey on Monday."

"I don't know if we should," she said slowly, biting her lip. "He didn't want us there before you told him, but now that he knows? We slept together, Colt. And then you two beat the shit out of each other because of it. I think we should just…"

"He needs us," he said. "I know it sounds stupid, but I know he needs us. He's losing it, AJ. And I know if we're not there, he might really go off the deep end."

"How can you be sure he doesn't hate you and wouldn't kill you the next time he saw you?" she asked tearfully. "And how do you know he doesn't hate me for what I… what I did?"

"That would be pretty hypocritical of him, wouldn't it?" he pointed out. They both knew what he was talking about- Lita. "But he doesn't. He doesn't hate either of us. I can't really explain why, but trust me. What happened in that room…" He shook his head. He couldn't even begin to put into words what he knew both of them had felt. But he knew. "You have to believe me. We have to be there."

"Oh, Colt," she whispered. "I might have ruined the best friendship you've ever had, you nearly tore each other apart, and still you're willing to help us?"

He gave her the same wry little smile he always did. "It's what I'm here for," he reminded her. "If I didn't bail his sorry ass out of trouble, who would?"

She placed a brief, chaste kiss on his forehead. "Just you," she replied. "Just you."

* * *

It had taken Daniel a long time to get to New Jersey- longer than he ever would have liked to admit. But after days of begging and pleading and convincing, he managed to get the help he needed to make his flight. He hadn't been back to this state since being flown home to Washington months ago to live with his parents; setting foot (or wheelchair, rather) back on this haunted soil stung a little.

Many long months of grueling rehabilitation had gifted him the use of his arms again. His legs, still mostly numb, were all that remained of his paralysis, and doctors were unsure whether or not he would ever be able to walk again. But being in a wheelchair gave him a sort of mobility he hadn't experienced since before his injury. He still wasn't able to drive or go out on his own, but the ability to move around largely unassisted breathed new life back into him. None of his hardships mattered now, though. What mattered was that he finally made it here, to the steps of the courthouse he'd been watching on television for the past week, because he owed it to them.

He'd been waiting there for about an hour now, hands gripped on the brakes of his wheelchair. He needed to be ready to release them at any given moment, as soon as he spotted her. Cell phone in his lap, he glanced at the time once again. Why wasn't she here yet? If she didn't hurry, she was going to be late. Court was to resume at 9 AM, sharp. Judges didn't like to be kept waiting, and neither did juries.

Finally, at 10 minutes before the hour, he saw her. The sight of her nearly took his breath away- she looked so small and innocent in her simple skirt and blouse, and yet her eyes still shone to him, even at this distance. Shaking his head, he refocused himself. He tipped the brakes back and began to wheel himself forward, heading straight for her.

"AJ!" he called. "AJ, over here! I need to talk to you."


	27. Chapter 27

"_D-Daniel?" AJ stuttered in disbelief, stopping dead in her tracks. She stepped back frantically, narrowly avoiding a collision._

"_Sorry," he said quickly, rolling back a little. "I'm still getting used to this thing. It's a little hard to maneuver sometimes." He looked up at her, icy blue eyes shining in earnest. "Can we talk?"_

_She shook her head rapidly. "No, no, no…" she muttered. She hadn't seen Daniel in close to a year, and running into him now so suddenly… The last time she laid eyes upon him, he wasn't moving, his paralyzed body strapped to a stretcher as paramedics wheeled him out of the stadium. She wasn't prepared for seeing her ex-boyfriend this way now. He looked so small, so frail-his body reminded her of how he looked when he wrestled on the independent circuit, lacking defined muscle and any real mass. He'd gotten rid of his beard, too, sporting a clean-shaven face and close-cut hair._

_And a wheelchair?! Yes, that was definitely a wheelchair he was confined to, and the distinct lack of movement in his legs told her why. So he was still partially paralyzed, when. She bit her lip, fighting back tears. No, this was not the man whose side she was once glued to. This was not him at all._

"_AJ, it's really important," he urged. "We have to talk."_

_She shook her head again. "We can't!" she protested. "Punk's bail conditions-"_

"_I know," he interrupted. "That's why I approached _you. _I saw him and Jason go around the back earlier. Colt went in ahead of you, too. Why weren't you with them, anyway?" When she didn't answer him, he shook his head. "Never mind. That's not important. I know you don't owe me anything, but I'm begging you, hear me out."_

_She was too stunned to even argue. Her posture relaxed and she stared down at him, silent._

"_I've been watching the trial on TV since the beginning," he explained. "At first I thought you guys had a decent chance, but this ADA has been tearing your defense apart. I'm afraid you might lose… So I came here to help. Jason doesn't want to let me, but I don't think you have anything to lose at this point. I want to testify for you."_

_Then it hit her. This was the second time he had referred to their lawyer by his first name. "Wait," she said slowly. "How do you know Paxton?"_

_His eyes widened at her. "He still hasn't told you?" he asked. "Damn. We have a lot to talk about."_

* * *

AJ sat in the courtroom now, sitting next to Colt as she recalled her conversation with Daniel. She'd arrived with only moments to spare, sliding into the seat Colt saved for her in the spectator benches just as Punk strode in with Paxton. As he made his way up the aisle, he almost didn't see them; AJ was almost praying he wouldn't, not wanting him to be thrown off by the sight of them. But just as he passed by he turned, eyes landing on them both. He stopped right next to their bench, locking gazes with AJ for a long, poignant moment.

"Come on," Paxton hissed, nudging his client with his elbow.

Punk nodded quickly, tearing himself away from her and proceeding on to the defense table. He remained standing as the judge walked in, sitting when instructed by the bailiff. It was an old dance by now, and usually it annoyed him how formulaic everything was… But this morning was different. He was stunned as he lowered himself into his wobbly chair. There they were, sitting in the court room as though nothing had happened. AJ with her hands folded primly and properly, Colt fidgeting uncomfortably in his suit, as though Punk hadn't begged them to stay away from the trial. He wondered suddenly where Phillip was, if not with Colt. Probably at AJ's parents' house, he guessed. They must have dropped him off before coming here to support him.

_What did I do to deserve them? _he thought, before he could stop himself.

* * *

Only three of Punk's friends were going to testify that day. After the stunt Meyers pulled with bringing up Michael Hayes' questionable past, Paxton thought it was best to keep Chris off the stand. Punk, naturally, protested this, but Chris agreed it was for the best. He didn't want Punk's case to be further destroyed by mentioning Punk bailing Chris out of jail some years ago.

But keeping Chris off the stand didn't keep his story from the ears of the jury. Meyers dragged it out of each and every one of them, forcing Kaitlyn, Zack, and Kofi to woefully recount the tale of Punk retrieving a drunken Chris from jail. She even brought up Chris bailing Punk out months earlier- how the shark of an ADA discovered that information, none of them knew. By the end of their testimony, Punk wasn't sure what made a greater impact- the glowing character references, or the ruthless way Meyers had torn them apart. He left the courtroom more crestfallen than he'd entered.

"Punk, I'm so sorry," Zack gushed as soon as they got out. "That one's a real bitch. I tried to make you sound as awesome as I could, and she just dug into me…" He held up his hands, dismayed.

Zack's explanation reminded Punk of the way Michael Hayes spoke to him after his own testimony. He wondered briefly if everyone was apologizing so profusely because they knew he was going to lose. He didn't really want to be around his friends right now, anyway- he wanted to sulk alone, especially in light of seeing Colt and AJ still in his corner. But he couldn't avoid them. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly, shaking his head. "It's not your fault. There's nothing anyone can do anymore."

"Don't say that!" Kaitlyn scolded, smacking his shoulder sharply. "You don't know what way the jury will go. You don't know anything for sure yet!"

Punk managed a smile. "You sound like AJ," he said.

"Where _is _AJ, anyway?" Chris asked with a frown. "Why didn't she eat lunch with us?"

Punk immediately stiffened. "I don't know," he said flatly. He knew his friends didn't deserve that kind of attitude, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to delve into the reasoning behind AJ's distance from him. He'd managed to block it out for most of the day (after nearly three days of virtually no sleep while thinking about it), and now it was coming back in full force.

"Do you want to come out with us?" Kofi asked uncertainly, sensing Punk's testy mood.

As expected, he shook his head. "I'm just gonna go back to my hotel," he said. "Thanks anyway."

"Then we'll see you tomorrow morning," Chris said slowly. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, of course," Punk muttered. His mind was already elsewhere. Without even saying goodbye to any of them he turned away, hurrying down the back hallway and bursting out the back service entrance. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be surrounded by people. He just wanted to be alone, before-

"Punk, wait!" AJ called, stepping out in front of him.

He halted just before they collided, stepping back. "I told you not to come," he said tightly, looking from her to Colt, who stood a few feet away. "I told you both not to come." His shoulders began to heave, rising and falling rapidly with anger. "Why can't either of you just fucking listen to me?"

"We came here for you," AJ nearly whispered. "Please, baby. Just listen to me. I-"

"No!" he cried. "Stop. Just fucking stop!" This was too much. He could see them-both of them!-right now. Too many emotions… too many harsh memories. Thinking about it sent cold shivers up his spine, a twitch that sent pain straight to his heart. He needed to get away. He started to move past them to his rental car, but Colt snagged him by the fabric of his jacket.

"Punk, come on," he begged. The healing cut on his nose stood out like a spotlight to Punk, radiating the shame from their battle. "If you don't want to talk to me, at least talk to her. I'll get out of here." His gaze wavered back and forth between the two of them. "I'm gonna go get dinner with Kofi and the guys and you two can talk, okay?" He fixed Punk with a withering stare. "You _need _to talk." He headed back into the court house, leaving the broken couple alone.

"You can't be here," Punk muttered, looking down. "I can't see you right now."

"Punk, I'm sorry," AJ sobbed. "I did something horrible and I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. But this isn't about us right now. It's-"

"Come here," Punk ordered. She started to tentatively walk over, but her progress toward him was too slow; he grabbed the front of her blouse, yanking her forward.

She looked up at him, lip quivering as she swallowed hard. "Punk?" she whispered.

"You're mine," he hissed. "Do you understand me?"


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's note: Hey everyone! As a Christmas present to all of you AJPunk shippers out there, I present an angry make-up love scene. Have a happy and safe holiday, guys!  
**

* * *

_You're mine._

They were two simple, if jarringly possessive words. Usually, Punk spoke them in jest, accompanied by a teasing grin as he spun AJ into his embrace. He might then place a soft, sweet kiss upon her forehead, his smile broadening as his eyes met hers. She would grin up at him, eyes twinkling with delight. The easy, light-hearted moment would quickly become one of tenderness, with his slow, gentle movements speaking volumes of his love her.

But not today. This time the words were laced with domineering fervor, his eyes wild and wide with nameless emotions as he spoke them. His hands were tight on her shoulders; she could feel his nails piercing the thin, white material of her blouse as he held her. She couldn't find the words to respond as she stared up at him, her body completely still within his grasp. The air around them was charged with electricity, sparks leaping across the short distance that separated them. She'd never seen his eyes so sharp, so focused. Their mossy, almost eerily translucent green was enough to stop time for her.

Later on, neither of them would be able to remember exactly how they made it to the hotel. One of them had to have driven them there, but they couldn't be sure who it was or how long it took them to arrive. They could only recall Punk shutting the door behind them, slamming AJ up against it as he tore desperately at her clothing. She found herself completely unable to resist, letting her arms hang limp as he popped the buttons of her shirt open. Throwing the now useless garment to the floor, he shrugged out of his jacket and fought against the buttons of his own shirt. Torso finally free, he pressed his bare torso to hers, groaning at the impossible heat their bodies created.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his torso, pulling him in for a searing kiss. Their lips crashed together, tongues fighting for dominance. His quickly won out, leaving her mouth and trailing down her neck. He found his way around to the shell of her ear, breathing hot desire into her. She let out a soft moan, her head falling forward. Her lips landed on the sweet, inked skin of his shoulder, sucking gently.

But he would have no tenderness. Not now. He yanked her forward from the door, turning to toss her roughly onto the bed as he stepped out of his shoes. She leaned forward to remove her shoes but his hands landed on hers, pulling them off. His hand splayed across her stomach, he pushed her back onto the mattress, and she could only watch as he pulled each of her flats from her heels and tossed them carelessly aside. His belt made a terrifying crack as he whipped it through his belt loops, slacks and boxers hitting the floor a moment later. She bit her lip at the sight of his beautiful, naked body; it was once again covered in bruises.

She didn't have long to stare. He was on her seconds later, yanking at her bra and skirt. His teeth tore viciously at her panties, the fabric quickly fraying apart. She whimpered, her body aching for him; he hadn't even touched her yet, and already she felt heat radiating from her innermost self. She needed him, so very badly. As though her life depended on it. Her hips rose toward him slightly, the torn fragments of her undergarment falling away from her.

His hands, tools of her body's destruction, slid carefully down her torso. They landed on her thighs, slowly and agonizingly prying them apart. He felt himself twitch with delight as she whimpered again, hands laying uselessly at her sides. She was completely at his mercy, and without a single intimate touch. He grinned at her madly, plunging his tongue into her wet core. He sucked hungrily at her rapidly swelling bud, as though he were a starving man and she a feast.

Her whole body shook feverishly as waves of pleasure shot through her. The sheer bliss turned her mind off; should only think of the way he bobbed tantalizingly between her legs, forcing more breathless whispers from her lips. She tangled a hand in his slicked-back hair, fingers curling with each ministration she felt. It wasn't long before he pushed her into ecstasy, flooding him with the proof that only he could control her body in such a way. She bit down on her hand, muffling her frantic cries.

He leaned back, licking his lips clean as he stared down at her. Her chest rose and fell softly; her body was spent, but he wasn't done taking from her what he desired. Not by a long shot. He was still throbbing, in desperate need of relief. Letting out a low growl, he crawled over and seized her wrists.

"Were you wearing it?" he hissed into her ear, pressing his body against hers. She could feel him, hard against her stomach, burning to be with her. "Were you wearing it when you fucked him?"

She remembered this; she asked him this exact question, months ago. "Yes," she whispered shamefully, turning her head away from him.

"Take it off," he ordered, releasing one of her wrists so she could do so. She twisted the ring off her finger, holding it out to him shakily. He grabbed it from her, pressing it into her palm as he took hold of her wrist again, merging them together beneath the grip of one hand. "Look at me." She did, turning her head back slowly so she could meet his gaze. The look in his eyes terrified her, hurt and fierceness and anger rolled into one. Without warning he buried his head in her neck, teeth clamping down mercilessly over her collarbone. The bite took her off guard; she yelped, a mixture of pain and satisfaction as he worked the skin between his teeth. He didn't stop until he felt a bitter, coppery substance flow across his lips. Blood. He released the captive area, satisfied the mark he left there would long outlast any left by someone else.

Even in her drugged haze of pleasure, she knew what he was doing as his free hand raked across her body. He was reclaiming her. He was making her his again, with every deep inhale of the scent of her skin and every drag of his tongue across her chest. Every bite, every kiss, every twitch of his obvious arousal against her ravaged body. She wanted this from him, even as his harsh movements and near-violent behavior filled her with an excited fear.

"Do you want me?" he growled into her ear, nails digging into her thigh.

"Yes," she begged, hips wiggling in earnest. "Please, baby. Please."

He gladly gave in, driving himself eagerly into her. She let out a tight moan, throwing her head back as he began to move. "_No one… make you feel… what I can_," he grunted, hips gaining speed with each word. "_No one… but me_."

Had she been able to speak, she would be inclined to agree with him, but his furious thrusts had robbed her of speech. She fought against his grip on her wrists, desperate to be able to grab onto something or at least muffle her cries, but his dominance was forcing her to experience the sheer, unbridled pleasure he was giving her.

He was panting heavily by the time he reached the sweet, sweet release he so needed. His whole body went rigid, spilling himself inside her with a great moan. At the same time he felt her walls tighten around him, her body writhing in tandem with his. He cries were lost against his neck, having finally wrenched her arms free to throw them around him. At last they were both spent, collapsing back onto the bed in a sweaty heap.

"You're mine," he whispered again, sliding her ring back onto her finger. "Got that? You're mine."


	29. Chapter 29

That night, Punk slept for the first time in days.

He didn't sleep the whole time. He awoke at several points throughout the night, stirring AJ from her slumber as the desperate need to be inside her overwhelmed him once again. Each time he pulled her back into his passionate embrace, he was increasingly more gentle than the time before. He soothed her bruised lips, ran his fingers through the soft curls of her hair, kissed the sweet curves all over her body. By the early hours of the morning, she was nearly brought to tears by his tenderness. She felt _loved_ again, rather than _fucked_.

They woke for the final time shortly after the sun rose, to rapid knocking on their hotel room door. Grumbling to himself, Punk rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts as he stumbled over to answer it. He found a bellboy from the lobby in front of him, brandishing a dark blue suitcase. He recognized it- it was AJ's.

"Sir, a man asked that this bag be sent up to you," the bellboy said. "Is it yours?"

"Yeah," Punk replied, nodding as he took the suitcase and sent it down inside the room. "Thank you." As he closed the door, he noticed a note pinned to the top of the bag. "_Thought you might need this. See you later, asshole. –Colt_" He found himself smiling. Leave it to Colt to come to bat for them. AJ would definitely be in need of her belongings today, seeing as Punk had unceremoniously all but destroyed her clothes the night before.

"What was that about?" AJ murmured, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing her leg softly. "Just a gift from a friend," he answered.

She was silent for a moment before scooting over to sit next to him, the bed sheet loosely hanging around her shoulders. "So what does this mean?" she whispered uncertainly.

He turned to look at her, frowning slightly. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You know what I mean," she said, nudging him slightly with her elbow. "Us. Our family."

He took a deep breath, covering her hand with his. "I shouldn't have left you and Phillip," he replied, looking down shamefully for a moment. "That was stupid. I need you now more than ever. I'm sorry."

She looked up at him, lip quivering. "You're… you're apologizing to me? Punk, this is my fault! I slept with your best friend! I ruined your friendship and I ruined our marriage!" The look in her eyes broke his heart; she was asking him to punish her for her actions. But she didn't deserve that.

"You didn't ruin anything," he assured her, squeezing her hand. "This isn't all your fault. And it's not all his fault, either. This…" He sighed. "Fuck. This whole thing is fucked up. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still mad at both you for this, but do I really have the right to be? Shit, I cheated on you when we weren't even facing this ridiculous trial. And I've been dragging Colt through the dirt with us this whole time… Damn it." He shook his head. "Look, what I'm trying to say is… there are more important things going on. We can fix this later, when I'm not facing prison time. I need you. I need both of you."

"Oh, baby," she whispered, her eyes watering. "I don't deserve you."

"Hey, don't say that," he scolded. "That's not true. We're just going through a rough time right now, all right?" He forced himself to smile at her. "We can worry about this in a few weeks." He didn't know how long it would take for him to start trusting the two most important people in life again… But right now, that didn't matter. "Come on. We should get ready." He stood up. "I can't wait to see Phillip later. You left him with your parents, didn't you? Picking him up should definitely be fun." He rolled his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom. His resolve astounded her- with the way he'd been acting recently, she never would have dreamed he would be able to pick himself up again. To have hope again.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to AJ. She'd been so wrapped up in their own affair, it didn't even cross her mind to bring up her meeting from the previous day. "Punk, wait," she said. "Come here. There's something we need to talk about."

"Sure," he said, returning to his seat next to her on the bed. "What's up?"

"I talked to Daniel yesterday," she said, a little hesitantly.

His eyes widened at her. "Daniel?" he choked out. "What? Why? How? Did he call you? Did-"

"He was at the court house yesterday morning," she explained.

"But I can't talk to him!" he cried. "That's one of the conditions of my bail! He's gotta know that. Someone must have told him." He shook his head fiercely. "I can't go back to jail…"

"No, no, he knows," she assured him quickly, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. She could already see him falling back over the edge again; she had to reel him back in. "He avoided you purposely. He came to talk to me."

He let out a slow, even breath, feeling his heart rate return to normal. "Okay," he said with a nod. "Then what the hell was it about?"

* * *

"_All right," Daniel said. "First things first. I know why Jameson has this crusade against Punk." He let out a sigh. He was nervous; that much was he clear. He never expected to see AJ again… and certainly not like this. But she had to know. "You remember the Nexus storyline, right?"_

"_Of course," AJ replied, nodding. She too was nervous, shaking slightly. "Punk ran it."_

"_Before Punk," Daniel corrected. "When Wade Barret ran it. Remember when we all debuted, taking apart the ring and attacking the crew? And I choked Justin Roberts with his tie?"_

"_Yeah," she said, recalling the beginning of the former NXT stable. She had still been with Florida Championship Wrestling at the time, eager to be brought up to the main roster. "You got fired for a little while for that, didn't you?"_

"_I did," he confirmed. "But did you ever find out why?"_

"_Well, the official explanation I heard was that it was too violent for a PG show," she answered. "Why, was that not true?"_

"_Oh, it was true… but I bet you never heard _why _that, of all things, was considered too violent."_

_She shook her head, frowning. What was he getting at?_

"_Mattel," he said finally. "The Mattel company thought I was too violent of a guy to be made into a toy they were marketing to children. The guy who pushed for my firing was-"_

"_Jameson," she finished. But it still didn't make sense. The slimy executive had it out for Daniel, then, too? Then why had he gone after Punk?_

"_That's right." He took a deep breath. "After I was released I was… distraught. Hell, distraught doesn't even begin to cover it. The WWE never told me I couldn't do something like that on TV. So I found a lawyer who was willing to help me out. Guess what his name was?"_

"_Jason Paxton," she replied automatically. "So Paxton was your lawyer? I'm more confused now than ever. What's going on?"_

"_Listen," he urged her. "Paxton went to the Mattel board with me. He made a really passionate speech about how ever since I was a little kid, I dreamed of being in the WWE… and when I finally got there, I was so excited and so grateful that I was willing to do anything to impress my bosses and didn't even think about the sponsors. But because they weren't even willing to just fine or suspend me, being so eager to please Mattel, my dream was crushed and the last decade I spent on the independent circuit was now completely useless. You know Jason; the guy can really make a speech when he gets going. Anyway, it really moved the board, Jameson in particular. He felt terrible for almost ruining my career, and withdrew his complaint." He sighed again, studying AJ's face for any sign of a reaction, but she was stone silent._

"_After I was injured, Jameson called me," he continued. "He asked me if what happened to me was an accident… And I told him I didn't think it was. This was before Punk came to visit me in the hospital, and I was still angry. I wasn't out for revenge or anything, I was just angry. I didn't think anything of it. Imagine my surprise a few months later, when Jameson called me again and told me he was getting revenge for me…" He looked down, ashamed. "I told him to stop. I swear, I did. But by then it was too late. So I called Paxton. I thought if anyone could get Punk out of this mess, it would be him." _

_He looked up at her, gazing into the chocolate-colored eyes that once held so much love for him. "I never learned to treat you the way you deserved," he whispered, lifting his hand to her cheek. "Letting you go and turning myself against one of my best friends was the worst mistake of my life. I can't take back the things I did to you… But I can try to make up for it. I'm going to make this right, AJ. That's why I'm here."_


	30. Chapter 30

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Paxton whirled around, snapping his briefcase shut as he laid eyes on his clearly furious client. AJ trailed behind him, followed closely by Colt. "What are you talking about?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't play that game with me," Punk snapped as he reached his lawyer, fists tightening.

"Easy, easy," Colt advised, taking him by the arm and pulling him back a little.

Punk nodded. He had to remember where they were- the lobby of a court house. "My wife had a little chat with Bryan yesterday," he said coolly, trying to keep his anger in check.

Paxton covered his forehead for a moment. "Fuck," he muttered with a sigh. So Daniel had come to New Jersey after all.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Punk demanded again. "Daniel, Jameson, how you know them- everything! You don't think that's something I should have known?"

"It didn't matter!" Paxton shot back. "Knowing any of that wouldn't have affected the case. It's not relevant. And if I told you, you wouldn't have trusted me! In order for me to do my job and keep your ass out of prison, you have to trust me!"

"And now I don't trust you, because you've been lying to me!" Punk yelled. "Why won't you let Daniel testify, huh? Are you fucking working against me?" He started to move forward, intent on grabbing Paxton by the collar, but Colt yanked him back again.

"Why won't the two of you stop harping on that?" Paxton let out an angry sigh of exasperation. "You really don't understand, do you? Look. If he testifies, it's going to work against you for two reasons. One is the obvious- if he tells people he deserved it, which is what he wants to say, he's just solidifying the ADA's case for her. He's flat-out telling them you're guilty. And second, if they see his skinny ass in a wheelchair rolling up to the stand, knowing what he looked like before, they're going to be left with the lasting image of what you did. You don't want his broken body being the last thing the jury sees before they go to make their decision. Do you fucking understand now?"

Punk finally stepped back, abashed. "So if he can't testify," he said quietly, "then what happens?"

"There's nothing more we can do," Paxton answered sadly. "It's in fate's hands now."

* * *

AJ held tightly to Punk as they walked into the court room. Paxton's speech had left her terrified; she was beginning to see now how Punk had been so devoid of hope all this time. As each day in court passed, as each witness had been ripped to shreds by the cutthroat ADA Lisa Meyers, the life seeped out of him just a little bit more. And now she finally understood why.

She was hesitant to release his arm as he proceeded past the barrier, but she had no choice. The defense table was for the defendant and his legal counsel only. She let go reluctantly, her fingertips trailing off his cufflinks as she sank down onto the bench behind the table. Kaitlyn, Zack, Chris, Kofi, and Colt quickly joined her, sliding into their seats. Kaitlyn squeezed AJ's hand comfortingly, and she turned to smile, but it was half-hearted. Nothing could quell the fear rising in her stomach.

When the opening formalities of court were completed, Paxton rose from his seat. "Your Honor," he announced, "the defense rests at this time."

"Very well," the judge replied. "We'll begin closing arguments, then. Ms. Meyers, it's your show. And try to keep it a little brief, will you? I'd like to make it home by midnight."

Meyers stood up, straightening her blouse. She grinned broadly at the judge, his quip not knocking her off her game in the slightest bit. Shooting a sickly sweet smile at Paxton and Punk, she strode over to the jury. "Murder, ladies and gentlemen," she said, spreading her hands out on the smooth, polished wood banister of the jury box. "That's what Phil Brooks attempted to commit that night, when he entered the ring to face his opponent Bryan Danielson. Not an accident. Not a misunderstanding. Murder." She stepped back, folding her hands. "You've heard it from people who have worked closely with him for years- Mr. Brooks is a troublemaker. He doesn't respect authority. He thinks the rules don't apply to him. He takes the law into his own hands, dealing his brand of justice whenever he sees fit. That's why, when he the opportunity arose to exact his revenge on his wife's ex-boyfriend, he took it. And now Bryan Danielson might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair." She took a deep breath, surveying the spectator benches for a moment before turning back to the jury. "When you leave this room, please, do the right thing. Put this violent man behind bars, where he belongs." She returned to her seat.

_Behind bars, where he belongs. _Those words struck a chord with Punk, like a bolt of lightning directly to his heart. This woman was describing him as an animal. A monster. A cruel seeker of vengeance. How many more times would it have to be repeated before he started to believe her accusations himself? He was starting to think he already did. He felt AJ's hand grip his shoulder, as though she could sense his dismay and knew to comfort him.

He didn't have long to dwell on Meyers' speech, though, as Paxton was already rising for his closing argument. "Again, pretty words from the Ms. Meyers," he began with a wry smile. "But the prosecution is reaching. They're looking for things that aren't there. They're looking for someone to blame for a crime that never took place. Is it a tragedy that Mr. Danielson is wheelchair bound as a result of his injuries? Absolutely. But does that mean a deliberate act, malicious in nature, took place? Of course not. Wrestling is dangerous sport. Both Mr. Brooks and Mr. Danielson were aware of this when they undertook this profession. Accidents happen, and an accident did happen. And that's no one's fault." He shot a sobering glance at Punk before turning back to the jury. "Phil Brooks isn't the devil the prosecution so desperately wants you to believe his, ladies and gentlemen. He's just a man. He's a husband and father. He's a son. He's a brother. He's a friend. And he's a wrestler, who on April 7th, 2013, slipped up. He shouldn't be punished for that. Thank you."

It was short, but powerful. Punk had to hand it to his lawyer- the man really did know how to drive a point home, and pack it with emotion as well. Punk could only hope it was enough to sway the jury, who now sat thoughtfully as the awaited instructions from the judge.

"Thank you, Mr. Paxton," the judge said. He turned his attention to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will now begin your deliberations. We will return when a decision has been made." He banged his gavel, setting them free. Punk watched as the 12 men and women who decide his fate stood, and filed out in a single line.

* * *

"So what happens now?" Punk asked as they headed to the parking lot. They'd separated from everyone but Colt- the active roster wrestlers and the touring musician all had bookings, which Punk demanded they honor. He couldn't stand the thought of interrupting their careers for another day. Having dragged them away for a week so far, he already felt bad enough. Swearing to keep them in the loop and call them if he had any news was the only way he could convince them to return to their lives.

"The jury deliberates," Paxton answered. "They'll go over evidence, review testimony, and probably yell at each other a lot while they decide. When they finally make a unanimous decision, we'll be called together the next business day to hear the verdict."

AJ swallowed hard. "And if…" she nearly whispered. "And if he's guilty?"

The color drained from Paxton's face as he spoke. "Then he'll be free until the sentencing hearing," he replied shakily, unable to meet her gaze. "It usually takes place a week or so after the verdict."

"Oh God," AJ muttered, burying her head in Punk's chest.

"Hey, stop it," Colt scolded them. "Both of you. He's going to be found not guilty and we're all going home for good in a few days, all right? Come on. Let's go pick up Phillip. Little bastard owes me some fries- he stole all of mine yesterday." His voice left room for nothing but acceptance. Neither Punk nor AJ were convinced Colt was really as optimistic as he sounded, but they needed a voice of reason right now. The downtrodden couple bid goodbye to Paxton and followed Colt to the car, silent.

As Paxton had said, there was nothing more they could do now. It was in fate's hands.


	31. Chapter 31

Three days. That was how long it took twelve strangers to decide the fate of a man they'd never met.

Punk spent every second of that time with the three people he loved most in the world- his best friend, his wife, and his darling baby boy. Because they couldn't stray too far from East Rutherford, New Jersey, they kept their activities confined to the surrounding areas. They went ice skating in Central Park in New York; they took Phillip to the zoo; they skipped rocks across a lake near AJ's childhood home; they watched seemingly endless hours of laughable movies. They were packing as much bonding time as possible into the short time they had. They even went to a reputable tattoo shop were Punk had previously gotten some work done, and had Phillip and AJ's names inked across the scar that ran down his ribs from the surgery.

He wanted them forever burned into his skin, just in case he was taken away from them.

All the while, they behaved as though nothing was wrong. As they went about their tours of the tri-state area, bouncing from place to place with a blissfully ignorant Phillip, none of them spoke a single word about the trial. They didn't talk about what happened between AJ and Colt, either. Both of them were slightly shocked at how easily Punk accepted both of them back; Colt had been expecting months of anger, at least, while AJ had been sure she would soon receive divorce papers. But as far as Punk was concerned, it was behind them now. His heart still burned whenever he thought about it, and he knew it would be a long time before he would feel comfortable with the two of them spending time alone together again. But none of that mattered right now. He needed his soul mate and his brother by his side, to keep him standing when he felt so close to falling.

On the night of the third day post trial, they all sat in Punk and AJ's hotel room. Colt was sitting in the lounge chair near the window, fighting off sleep. Punk lay back on the bed with AJ curled under his arm, and Phillip nestled happily against his chest. They were watching their son's favorite movie, Finding Nemo. The baby had already fallen asleep, of course, but neither Punk nor AJ had the heart to turn it off. They didn't want to spoil this moment. But that choice was taken from them when Punk's phone rang.

Groaning good-naturedly, he reached over to the bedside table and brought the phone to his ear. He didn't even check to see who was calling, intent on silencing the shrill ring as quickly as possible. "Hello?" he said quietly, glancing down at his chest to make sure Phillip was still asleep.

"It's me," Paxton replied.

Punk felt his chest instantly seize up at the sound of his lawyer's somber voice. _Not now, _he begged silently. _Not yet. Please. _He looked around the room, from his sleeping son to his relaxing wife to his dozing best friend. _Just give me a little more time._ He wasn't ready to face his reality yet.

"Punk?" Paxton prodded. "Are you there?"

"Uh, yeah, what's up?" he asked, although he already knew what this call was about.

"They're done deliberating," Paxton announced, the answer making Punk's heart sink. "We're due back in court tomorrow morning at 9 AM."

Punk sighed. So this was it. There was no more avoiding it. He would be meeting his fate tomorrow, whether he was ready or not. He looked down AJ, still curled comfortably in his protective embrace. She was so relaxed, she hadn't even asked him who was on the phone. She was content to wait for him, idly running her fingers through Phillip's unruly dark hair as she flashed him a dreamy smile.

"Hey, you all right?" Paxton asked, the concern evident in his voice. Punk realized this was the first time his cold, strictly business attorney had ever asked him how he was doing.

"Not really," he admitted. "I'm fucking terrified."

Hearing this caught AJ's attention. She slowly and carefully eased out of the crook of his arm, frowning at him. "What's wrong?" she whispered, not wanting to disturb his phone call, but desperate to know what was going on. The vacant look in his eyes scared her.

_Paxton, _he mouthed to her, before turning his attention back to the call. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning," he said with a small sigh. He lowered the phone from his ear slowly, hand shaking as he replaced it on the table.

"What's going on?" Colt murmured, stirred from his rest by the conversation.

Punk looked from AJ to Colt, silent for a moment. "The jury's back," he told them quietly, rubbing Phillip's back as he spoke. His words changed the tone in the room. Both AJ and Colt sat up straight, each fixing him with a sobering glance. The only noise came from the television, which still played the bright, exciting tale in the background.

Colt ducked silently out of the room quietly about 20 minutes later, leaving the family to their own peace. Punk and AJ lay on the bed facing each other, hands linked, with Phillip sleeping tangled in their arms. The love present between was palpable, as real as the air they breathed. There were a million different things he wanted to say to her, a million things running through his mind that threatened to spill out at any moment. But he didn't need to speak. Neither of them needed to say a single word. She wasn't sure if she would have been able to if she tried.

They remained that way throughout the rest of the evening, neither one sleeping for a single moment. If this was truly to be their final night together as a family, they wanted to make it last.

* * *

Both Punk and AJ were surprised to see their friends at the court house the next morning, after dropping off Phillip (reluctantly) at AJ's parents' house. It wasn't just Kaitlyn, Kofi, Zack, and Chris, either; Paul Heyman and Michael Hayes had joined them, too. Even his old stable members from Straight Edge Society (Serena, Joey Mercury, and Luke Gallows) showed up. Punk was overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of them; he hadn't expected to see any of them here.

"I called them," Colt explained. "I thought you might need more friends than my sorry ass today."

"Thank you," he muttered, moving to embrace each and every one of them. Just knowing they were here today, to witness either his furthest fall or biggest triumph, warmed his rapidly skipping heart. They each whispered words of support to him, clapping him on the shoulder or the back as they separated. AJ thanked each and every one of them in turn, unsure who really needed them more- herself, or Punk. He watched as they moved to take their seats inside the court room, leaving himself and AJ outside in the lobby to meet Paxton.

"I need to talk to you about something," Punk said as his lawyer arrived.

"Sure," Paxton answered automatically with a nod. "Anything."

"If they find me guilty-"

"_Punk_!" AJ scolded him tearfully. "Don't say that!" Just the mention of the word 'guilty' sent a painful shiver down her spine. She refused to even think about the possibility.

He regarded her sadly, but had to ignore her objections. "If I'm guilty," he continued, squeezing her shoulder as he spoke, "I don't want to wait to be sentenced."

Paxton blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" he asked, frowning slightly. "Are you saying you want me to ask the judge for an expedited sentencing hearing?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "You said it usually happens a week or so after the verdict is handed down, right? Well, I can't do that. I can't sit in a hotel room for a week and stare at my family, counting down the days until I go off to prison. I just want to get it over with, okay?"

Paxton swallowed hard as he looked his client, but Punk's eyes were unwavering. "All right," he said with a nod. "I'll do what I can."

AJ's lower lip quivered as Punk told hold of her hand, leading her into the court room. After days of filling her with hope that he just might make it out of this after all, he was back to pessimism again. He was making plans in the event of his guilt. _He's just preparing, _she told herself. _Just in case. _But she couldn't quite convince herself that was true. She followed him to the defense table, intent on sticking by his side today, despite knowing her place was behind the barrier. Somehow, she knew no one would scold her to step back.

Punk felt his stomach leap to his throat as the jury filed in, entering their box one by one. He frantically studied their faces for a sign, but not one of them gave him a single clue. Their stoic expressions did not betray them, leaving him to stare silently at the old judge, who was studying them as well. He was sure everyone in the court room could hear the loud, rapid beat of his heart as it thudded against his ribs. He was sure even the shoulder-mounted news cameras that lined the back wall could pick up the sound, and every television in the country was transmitting his fear.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," the judge said, "have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor," the foreman replied, steadying himself on the banister as he rose.

_I'm going to wake up, _he thought desperately, closing his eyes. _I'm going to wake up any second now._

"And how do you find?" he asked.

_I'm going to wake up and find out that all of this was just a long, horrible nightmare._

"On the sole count of the indictment…"

_I'm going to wake up with AJ holding Phillip over me, and he's gonna be pinching my nose so I'll get up._

"…Attempted murder in the second degree…"

_I'm going to wake up lying in bed next to my wife._

"…We the jury find the defendant…"

_I'm going to wake up._

"Guilty."

Punk opened his eyes, surveying the room. AJ had fallen to her knees next to him, sobbing. Colt was cursing behind him, having punched the wooden barrier in front of him. Paxton removed his glasses, covering his eyes. Kaitlyn was fleeing the room, hand covering her mouth, while Kofi chased after her. Chris and Zack were merely staring at the floor, while Paul bit his hand as he fought back tears. Rapid flashes were going off near the door, as photographers scrambled to capture the moment.

He blinked again, hard.

He didn't wake up.

* * *

**Author's note: From now on I will be offering boxes of tissues, pitchforks, and free grief counseling with my chapter updates. XD**


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's note: I wrote this one from my basement as I'm currently hiding from angry and heartbroken readers, lol. But seriously, a BIG thanks to all of you who have reviewed. As much angst as I'm making you all feel, I'm glad you're enjoying it.**

"Don't leave me," AJ pleaded. "You can't go away. I need you. _We_ need you." Hot, salty tears streamed down her cheeks, a river of regret.

"I'm sorry," Punk whispered back. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." He framed her face between his hands, gently wiping her tears away with his thumbs. Each one sent a pang straight to his heart, reminding him what he would be leaving behind tomorrow. He felt his own eyes beginning to water, stinging painfully as he refused to blink as often as he needed. Blinking would be taking time away from her, and he couldn't let any more precious seconds slip away from them.

"No!" she cried indignantly. "It's my fault, mine! If I hadn't… tried to get Daniel back… If only I hadn't… If I had just stayed away, if I had just let it go…" She collapsed in a fit of sobs again, crumpling against his chest in despair.

"Shhh," he murmured soothingly. He smoothed back her hair, defusing the strands that had been stuck to her cheeks by tears. "You couldn't have known. No one knew." He wasn't sure what hurt more- seeing her in such a distraught state now and knowing it would be far worse in the morning, or knowing it was the reality of his depending departure that caused it. He didn't even know how he was keeping such composure, but he had to continue to stay strong. For her _and _Phillip, who still remained blissfully unaware of everything, sleeping soundly in the next room.

She remained still in his arms for a few moments, allowing herself to be soothed by the steady cadence of his heart. It beat firmly against her ear, reminding her that they were both still alive. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she tilted her chin to stare up at him. "Make love to me," she whispered.

He inhaled sharply. "AJ…" he said quietly. "I- I don't know if I can." He was just barely managing to hold his anguish at bay; how would he possibly be able to let himself go physically, and give her what she wanted, while he was in such a state?

But the deep, languid pools that fixed on him were filled with such desire, such agony. "Please," she begged, squeezing his shoulders. "They're taking you away from me tomorrow. I want as much of you as I can tonight." She touched his cheeks, his rough stubble pricking her fingertips.

He couldn't deny her. Not when she said it like that. Not when she begged for him, when her whole body ached to feel him one last time. _One last time, _he thought, arms tightening around her. _I need this, too… I need it just as much as she does. _He placed a hand below her chin, tipping it up so her lips could meet his. His kiss was so gentle, so tender, so sweet she nearly cried again. She tried to pull herself back a little, already needing catch her breath, but he trapped her against him. He needed to taste as much of her candy tongue and bubblegum lips as possible, for as long as possible.

He lay back on the bed, pulling her lithe frame over his. She could already feel his body stiffening beneath hers. His hands shook with anticipation as the glided over her, settling on the small of her back. He began to slowly inch his fingertips upward, under the flimsy fabric of her shirt. She shivered a little; goose bumps were rapidly forming, a trail left in the wake of his touch. She began to struggle out of her top but he stopped her, gently pulling her arms down.

"It's okay," he whispered, stroking her cheek. "Take your time."

"But we don't _have _time," she said frantically. "We're running out. We're-"

"We have all the time we need tonight." He traced his index finger along the fine details of her face; he already knew by heart the feel of her button nose and soft cheek bones. His thumbs moved carefully over her eyelids, across her brow, around the shell of her ear. Again, an involuntary shiver rolled down her spine. His hands knew her body better than she herself; obtaining such a reaction from her, without even roaming below her neckline, was child's play for him.

She sat up, straddling his lap as she removed her shirt. She started to reach for her bra but he beat her there, effortlessly unhooking the clasps and pulling the undergarment from her torso. When his hands rose to cup her breasts, she let out a breathless moan; he was handling her so delicately, as though she were made of fine porcelain. She leaned into him, covering his hands with her own. She wanted to commit the feeling of his calloused palms on her skin to memory, as soon it would be all she had.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, watching her twist sensually in his grasp. No, it was more than that- more than beautiful, more than gorgeous, more than stunning. She was perfect. She was a flawless, heaven-sent angel, a breath of air after ages underwater, a life-saver long before he knew he even needed saving. And tonight, she was still his.

Eager for him she sat up, wiggling her hips as she slid her shorts off, as well as her panties. She wanted nothing separating her skin from his, and began tugging at the waistband of his shorts as soon as she was free from her own. She could feel his erection pressing stiffly against her groin; he groaned as she pulled his shorts and boxers over it, freeing him. Running a hand down the intricate artwork of his chest, she guided it down his torso until she reached below his waist. He lolled his head back as she stroked the length of him, gasping when she took his tip into her mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, fighting to keep his eyes open as her lips closed tantalizingly around him. "I... Damn it." A deep, impossible heat was forming at the base of his spine, traveling further and further up his back with each flick and twirl of her tongue. Just like he did her, she knew him well, knowing how to drive him to the brink, how to make him groan and hiss with pleasure. She was the only woman who had ever been able to make him beg.

She continued her assault on him, his back arching off the bed. His fingers threaded through the waves of her hair, forcing himself to keep his release at bay. He couldn't let this end. Not yet. He tugged desperately at her hair again, biting his lip to stifle his desperate cries.

Aware of his agony, she slowly drew her tongue back, giving him one last lick before sitting up again. "Do you need me, baby?" she whispered seductively, grinding against him a few times.

"Yes," he pleaded. He couldn't even think straight. "I need you. I… I need you." The word _forever _lay unspoken on his lips. He didn't want to think about the future. He didn't want to think about tomorrow. He didn't want to look past tonight, here, with her, in their own little world.

She gladly obliged, shifting her hips to ease herself onto him. They gasped in unison as he filled her completely; he pierced her like a sword, sliding right through her wet core. Bracing her hands on his chest, she began to rock her hips back and forth. Each movement sent waves of electricity through her, both their bodies begging her to go faster. She impaled herself on him, faster, harder. The orgasm that shot through her was white hot, curling her fingers and toes as her body shook. She withered against him, panting heavily, but he was still rock hard inside of her.

In one fluid motion he rolled her onto her back, flipping their positions so he bore over her. She stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, still clouded from the sheer bliss she'd experienced only moments ago. But he wasn't done yet, thrusting himself through her still quivering folds. She cried out against his neck as he poured everything he had into her. Each wild buck of his hips against hers filled her innermost self with all he had to give- his joy, his pain, his grief, his pride, his love.

"Baby…" she moaned breathlessly as he interlocked his fingers with hers, pressing their hands back against the bed. "I… I'm close… I'm going to come again…"

"Let go," he whispered, moving in and out of her again and again. "Just let go. Come with me."

She did. She let another sweet wave of pleasure rip through her, her whole body singing to him as his own went rigid above her. He cried her name into her ear as he finished inside her, still gripping her hands as though they were his lifeline.

"Don't go," she breathed.

He didn't speak. He couldn't.

* * *

AJ awoke the next morning to find the space beside her cold and abandoned. Frowning, she sat up with shiver. Where was he? The bathroom was open and dark, and his room key still lay on the bedside table; the only other place he could be was the other room, with Phillip. Sliding out of bed, she slipped into her clothes from the previous night and tiptoed over to the door that separated the two adjoining rooms. The door was slightly ajar, allowing her to lean in a little. "Punk-" she began, but she cut herself off as she caught sight of her husband and son.

Punk was sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Phillip several feet away. "Listen up, little guy," he was saying in the soft, soothing voice he always used when he spoke to his son. "Daddy… Daddy's going away, all right? I don't know for how long… but it's gonna be awhile. So I need you to give me something before I go, okay? Something I can take with me." He stood up, walking over to the smiling baby. "I know it's kind of rare for kids your age to start walking, and you won't even be a year old for a few more weeks… But you've been standing and pulling yourself up a lot lately, so maybe you can take a few steps for me today." He got down on his knees, allowing himself to be just a foot away. "Can you stand up?"

"Up!" Phillip announced happily, bouncing on his knees a few times before struggling to his feet.

Punk smiled broadly at him. "Good job," he said. "Now… walk to Daddy." He stretched his arms out.

Phillip extended one leg slowly before crumpling to the floor, shaking his head. "No!" he cried.

"Come on, buddy," Punk coaxed. "You can do it, sweetie. I know you can. Please… walk for Daddy." He waved his son forward, and the baby carefully rose to his feet again. Eyeing his father nervously, he took one shaky step forward. Then another. And another. In no time at all he had crossed the short distance between himself and Punk, falling against his father's chest in a fit of giggles.

"You did it!" he cried, lifting Phillip up and spinning him around. "You did it, buddy. That's my boy. That's my little boy." He hugged his little clone close, tears streaming down his cheeks. His voice turned to a whisper, their heads bent together. "You did it. You walked for Daddy." He turned to see AJ in the doorway, and his eyes widened. "Baby, I'm… I'm sorry…" He suddenly felt terrible from inadvertently stealing this moment from her.

"No, it's okay," she assured him. He needed this; she knew that. Now he had both Phillip's first word, and his first steps to take with him. She didn't even realize that she too was crying.

They both jumped lightly when someone began knocking at the door. "Hey, guys?" Colt called. He used the key they'd given him to open the door slightly. He was already dressed in his suit. "It's… It's almost 8:30. We should get going." His eyes were red. Neither of them had to ask why.


	33. Chapter 33

"Head on inside, baby," Punk advised, nudging AJ lightly with his elbow. "I need to talk to Colt for just a second, okay?"

She shook her head fiercely, looking up at him with widened eyes. "No," she muttered weakly, holding tightly to his shoulder. "I want to stay here with you."

"I won't be long," he assured her. "I promise." He kissed her forehead encouragingly, shifting Phillip's weight to his other shoulder. He'd been adamant about bringing their son to court today, unwilling to be separated from him until he absolutely had to. He didn't want AJ out of his sight, either, but his conversation with Colt could not wait.

"Okay," she relented quietly, looking down dejectedly. She reluctantly headed into the back entrance to the court house, glancing at them anxiously over her shoulder as she left.

"All right, what's going on?" Colt asked lightly. His hands were buried deep in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. He hadn't slept at all last night.

"I know I've asked a lot of you lately," Punk replied, "and I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for my family."

At this, Colt laughed incredulously. "You're thanking me?" he said. "Shit, you should still be punching me, man. For Christ's sake, I fu-"

Punk merely waved him off. "We're not talking about that. We're…" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We're past that, okay? That's not what this is about. Just listen. I've been relying on you lot, ever since I was arrested. My bullshit life has completely thrown yours off course, and I'm so sorry for that… But I have one last favor to ask of you."

"Anything," Colt replied automatically. His felt a deep pang in his chest- he would do absolutely anything to earn his best friend's forgiveness.

"I need you to keep AJ and Phillip from visiting me," he said.

Colt stepped away, taken aback. "_What_?" he cried. "Punk, she- she's your _wife_! You're going to prison! You're telling me you don't want to see your wife or kid while you're locked up for who the fuck knows how many goddamn years?"

"I need you to do this for me," he begged. "Look, you don't understand… All I've done, for the past nearly two years of AJ's life, is hurt her. Her relationship with me drove her ex-boyfriend so crazy, he almost killed her. I got her pregnant after a month of dating. I nearly killed a guy, just to keep her safe from the problems I caused. I cheated on her with my ex-girlfriend. And now she can't even wrestle because of my fucking trial. Who knows if they'll ever take her back? I may have destroyed her dream job, too. Just because of her connection to me. And Phillip growing up seeing his dad in prison? Shit. Not seeing me at all would be better than seeing me every few months when AJ drags him to New Jersey."

Colt shook his head rapidly. "This is crazy, Punk," he said. "You just want to abandon them? _Again_?"

"Of course not!" Punk snapped, a little more harshly than he meant to. "Look, I know it sounds crazy… But I can't hurt her anymore. I don't know how long I'm going to be in there. You saw what being behind bars did to me the first time, and I was only there a week. What kind of man am I going to be when I get out, if I even make it that long? I can't do that to her. I can't do that to Phillip."

The longtime indy wrestler sighed heavily. "She's going to kill me for this," he said.

"But you'll do it?"

Before Colt could muster up an answer, his mouth hung slightly agape and he pointed frantically over Punk's shoulder. Frowning, Punk turned around, finding Paxton approaching… and not too far behind, Daniel was wheeling his way over.

Punk's knees started to buckle at the sight of his old friend. He didn't look like the Daniel Punk had palled around with for so many years. He was too… scrawny. Too defeated. His eyes had an unfamiliar hardness to them. They held too much pain to belong to the Daniel he knew. _And the chair_! That fucking chair. Seeing Daniel wheel his way over sent his stomach into somersaults.

"Paxton," he said slowly, "what is this?"

"He couldn't help during the trial, but he can help now," Paxton explained, stepping aside to make room for Daniel's wheelchair.

"What do you mean?" Colt asked.

"At a sentencing hearing, there's the opportunity for what's called a victim impact statement," Paxton told them. "Based on what the victim says, the judge can be swayed to alter a sentence."

"When I talked to AJ last week, I told her I was going to try my best to fix this," Daniel announced. His voice was far less raspy than when Punk had last heard it. "I'm keeping that promise. I know it's not much, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you spend as little time in there as possible."

"Bryan…" Punk muttered. He didn't know what to say. The man whose near destruction had gotten him into this mess might just be his saving grace after all.

hr

"My name is Bryan Danielson," Daniel began, "and on April 7th, 2013, I was severely injured during my WWE championship match with Phil Brooks. All the jury that convicted him yesterday could see were those facts- that I was hurt and Phil was the reason why, whether it was purposeful or not. But there's a big part that everyone is missing… and that's that I deserved everything that happened to me." He paused as everyone in the court room uttered a collective gasp- including AJ, who had been sitting stoically beside Punk until now.

"That's right," Daniel confirmed. "I deserved it. I can't explain why… But when I saw my ex-girlfriend with Phil, something came over me. I damn near lost my mind, trying to get revenge. I tried to make April miscarry their baby, by messing up a move and throwing myself into her. I stalked them. I threatened them. I was drunk when I crashed their wedding… I cornered her, I tore her dress… I tried to force myself on her. I was out of control. I was torturing the girl I used to love and making a guy who used to be one of my best friends completely miserable… This was my fault. All of this was my fault. I've known that for a long time. I didn't even want to press charges, but that decision was taken out of my hands." He took a deep breath, staring down at his frozen legs for a moment. "What I'm trying to say, Your Honor, is that Phil doesn't deserve this. He's a good guy… a great guy. The best man I know. He doesn't belong behind bars, but there's nothing I can do about that. All I can do is ask you for leniency. I _beg _you, Your Honor… Please. Send him home to his family, as soon as you can."

No one in the room uttered a single word. Awe followed Daniel as he wheeled away from the stand, over to the defense table. Much like the last time they met, he gripped Punk's arm, squeezing it tightly. The two men locked gazes, a silent understanding travelling between them. Neither realized their eyes were watering slightly, but tears never left them. He moved on to AJ, placing a gentle, chaste kiss upon her cheek. With one last firm nod to both of them, he retreated to the spectator gallery.

"Thank you, Mr. Danielson," the judge said finally, breaking the hush that had fallen over his court room. He'd taken off his glasses, gently massaging his forehead. "That was… powerful." He was quiet for a moment, studying the fine grains in his gavel. After his pause he turned his attention directly to Punk. "In light of Mr. Danielson's address, I've been moved to reconsider the original sentence I was prepared to hand down today. The minimum punishment I can assign in this state for attempted murder which resulted in severe injury is seven years. Your parole eligibility will be determined at a later date." He banged his gavel.

"No," AJ whispered, crumpling in her seat. Paxton put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Punk looked frantically from his wife to his son, who sat peacefully in Colt's arms one row behind them. The little boy waved at him, grinning. Forcing a smile, Punk waved back. But inside, he was sure his heart had stopped beating.


	34. Chapter 34

Seven years.

AJ wouldn't lay next to him in bed, go to the park with him and Phillip, stare dreamily at him from across the dinner table, laugh at silly old movies with him, stroke his cheek lovingly, force him to play videogames with her, fawn over new issues of Spiderman with him, shower with him, watch him wrestle, playfully throw unfolded laundry at him, share sinfully sweet deserts with him, huddle against him for warmth, seek his protection during a thunderstorm, go to a Cubs game with him, trace the twists and turns of his tattoos… for seven years.

She remained still in her chair, struck dumb, silent as the world shifted around her. It baffled her how everyone else was just able to move- to get up, gather their things, and walk away, like her life hadn't just come to a terrible, screeching halt. Didn't it matter? Didn't anyone care? Why were they just _leaving _her here, in this block of ice that had formed around her?

She was faintly aware of a familiar, piercing sound echo from somewhere behind her- Phillip's cry. Her first instinct was to rush to his aid, but she couldn't will her body to work. She couldn't find the strength to turn to her son and soothe his wails, as he was clearly reacting to the tense feeling in the room. She just sat there, frozen, shut down. Useless. How could she even begin to comfort him, when she wasn't able to keep it together herself?

What finally roused her from her trance was the blur of movement next to her. The bailiff had come forth from his position at the front of the court room, and was slapping a pair of unforgiving handcuffs around Punk's wrists. He secured the cuffs at Punk's front, as was customary for bringing a newly sentenced convict to prison. "No!" she squeaked, jumping to her feet. "You can't take him!"

"AJ, please, don't do this," Punk begged, although he knew his request was in vain. In the end, he had always known it would come to this. But seeing her in so much pain killed him. He'd told himself he wouldn't cry, that he would be a man and be strong for them, but he could already feel his eyes beginning to water.

"They can't take you away from me," she sobbed desperately, tugging at his arm.

"Ma'am, you need to let go and step back," the bailiff ordered, shoving himself between the grieving couple. He began pulling Punk down the middle aisle of the court room. They both squinted as dozens of flashes went off, photographers and reporters eager to capture their sorrow forever. Punk forced himself to keep his head held high as the bailiff marched him away, unwilling to give the media vultures the reaction they so desired.

AJ followed them frantically, with their friends not far behind. Again she heard Phillip wail from Colt's arms, but she couldn't take him right now. His father needed her more, and she was hot on the bailiff's heels as they reached the front steps of the court house. "Wait, please!" she cried, nearly stumbling as she chased after them. They were rapidly approaching a police cruiser parked at the bottom, which was guarded by two waiting officers.

Punk turned in the bailiff's grasp. He'd wanted to disappear quickly after his sentencing, but he was quickly realizing just how callous that was. AJ didn't know he would be retreating from his family yet. She needed this goodbye… and so did he. "Hey, hold up a second," he said. "Can I say goodbye to my family before I go?"

The bailiff grimaced, but released Punk's arm. "A few minutes," he decided.

He nodded gratefully. "Thank you," he said, just as AJ reached him. She threw her petit body against his, securing him in her tearful embrace.

"Please, baby, don't go," she whispered into his shirt. "Please, tell me it's all a dream."

"I wish I could," he whispered back, shifting his arms so they fell over her back. She was trapped in the circle of his cuffed arms, locking her to him. "I tried to wake up in the court room, but I didn't. This is really happening, sweetheart."

"No!" she cried, pounding his chest feverishly with her fists. "I need you! You can't leave me! Who's going to raise our son with me? Who's going to protect me? Who's going to love me?"

Every word she spoke broke him just a little bit more. He blinked furiously to rid his eyes of tears before responding. "You'll be just fine," he assured her firmly. "You're the strongest woman I know. You'll have Colt, and Kaitlyn, and Kofi, and I know Chris and Paul and Joey will look in on you from time to time… You'll be fine, okay? You won't be alone, AJ. You'll never be alone."

"If I'm not with you, then I'm alone," she sobbed. "I… I…"

"He won't stop calling for you," came Colt's voice from beside them. He held Phillip against his shoulder, who was wailing _daddy _over and over.

Punk forced a smile, lifting his awkwardly secured arms over AJ's head so he could take his son. "Hey, it's going to be okay, little guy," he said soothingly, bouncing the distraught baby in his arms a little. "Mommy's going to take good care of you. So will Uncle Colt."

"Daddy," Phillip sniffled, nuzzling his father's neck.

"I love you," he murmured against the damp weight of his son. "I love you so much, Phillip. Take good care of Mommy for me." The thought of everything he would be missing in his sweet baby boy's life was like a blade straight through his heart. But he couldn't let himself break. Not in front of him. He pressed a kiss on the crown of Phillip's forehead before handing him to AJ, who was all but withering before him.

"Wrap it up!" the bailiff called from a little ways away.

Punk nodded. "I have to go now," he said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking.

"I love you," AJ whispered. She grasped him, pulling him in for a tender kiss. Punk's first instinct was to pull back, to not let this affection torture them both even more, but he couldn't. He had to enjoy the sweet taste of her perfect lips, inhale her intoxicating scent, one last time. If he could have, he would have kissed her forever. But it ended too soon, and before he knew it their mouths were their own again, lips quivering.

"Don't wait for me," he whispered back. Every fiber of him screamed to love her back, but he had made this decision already. He couldn't hurt her anymore.

Her eyes widened. "W-what?" she stammered, staring up at him in disbelief. She felt Phillip wiggle in her arms; separated from his father again, he was already becoming distressed.

"Don't wait for me." Unable to hold back his tears any longer, he kissed her forehead and tousled Phillip's thick hair before turning to Colt. He placed his hands firmly on his best friend's shoulders. "You'll take care of them," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Of course," Colt promised. He too was tearing up, in spite of himself. "Fuck."

"And keep them safe?"

"Always."

The two embraced, brothers in every way but one. Finally Punk pulled back, giving him one last sober nod and turning to the bailiff. The officer of the court took him by the arm, leading him to the car.

"I won't!" AJ cried after him, crumpling to the steps below. "Phil, I love you!"

Punk didn't look back as the officers pulled him into their car. He couldn't. Because he knew if he did, his resolve would crumble. He forced himself to stare at the floor as the door beside him was slammed shut. The officers climbed into the front seats, glancing back at him to ensure he was secure before pulling the car away from the court house.

Colt watched helplessly as AJ clutched Phillip. His cries of _daddy _were muffled against her chest, his tears soaking her shirt. He glanced to his right as Paxton walked up beside him, the attorney's usual shark-like persona long abandoned.

"So what happens now?" Colt asked him.

Paxton watched AJ for a moment before looking down. "I'm not sure," he admitted finally. "I think I might go back to teaching law at Princeton."

Colt frowned. "But don't you have a successful practice?"

"I do," Paxton confirmed, "but… I don't know if I can do this anymore." He sighed. "Most cases don't affect me. To be a successful lawyer, I can't let them; otherwise, I'd never take on another one. Win or lose, I still go home at the end of the day, and I wake up in the morning and go to my office and do it all over again. But this one…" He looked at Colt. "It's got to me."

"It got to all of us," Colt muttered. He looked on as mother and son sobbed together, knowing he was helpless to comfort either of them. Nothing he could say or do would make their pain go away. The only person who could do that was headed to the state correctional facility, insisting that his family stay far, far away from him. Colt didn't want to do it- their absence would cause just as pain as seeing Punk behind bars. But he promised. He would respect Punk's wishes, no matter how much it hurt him to follow through with them.

He thought back to his first meeting with Punk, on their first day of training at Steel Dominion Wrestling School. The story was older than time- the day they met, they had instantly become best friends, and the rest was history. IWA, Ring of Honor, and then the big leagues, a place only one of them had blossomed. But he knew that Punk was the one who had always been meant to.

_Goodbye, brother._

With that last thought he descended the steps, sinking down beside AJ. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her and Phillip comfortingly against him. It wasn't much, but he had to hope that his presence might ease their anguish just a little. She didn't know what would happen from here- where she would go, or how she would survive.

But she had to. For Phillip. For Punk. For herself.


	35. Sequel Reminder

**Author's note: Hey, everyone! I just wanted to let you know that I'm writing a sequel to In Fate's Hands. It's called The Long Way Home, and the first chapter is already up. I hope you all enjoy it as much as you enjoyed the first two installments of this series!**


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